


That which is indestructible

by Ijustwantyoutoknow



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Connor Has Anger Issues, Connor Murphy & Zoe Murphy Bonding, Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Cutting, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Masturbation, Past Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Treebros, honestly im not great at tagging, previous suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustwantyoutoknow/pseuds/Ijustwantyoutoknow
Summary: When Connor ends up in another treatment center, he doesn't think anything will change - his dad thinks he's faking it, Zoe is afraid of him, and his mom throws everything into his recovery except for herself.He doesn't expect (or want) anything to change.And then everything does.





	1. The pain is bigger than anything else

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how these smol boys deserve recovery and this just happened. Careful if swearing, throwing things, or wanting to die are triggers for you.

Connor Murphy walked through the facility with his head down, not really listening to the words the person, whoever the fuck they were, explain how welcoming and effective their program was for fixing broken kids.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and bites on his lip until he feels his mother’s hand squeeze his shoulder. He clearly missed something.

“Connor, they asked what you’re thinking about all of this?”

Rage sparked in his belly, but he was too tired after his release from the hospital today to yell at the moment. He shrugged instead and looked back down at the floor.

“Well, why don’t we make our way to nursing and we can get his vitals and go over his meds.”

 “Yes, there were some changes during his stay at the hospital and I had some questions…”

Connor tuned out his mother. She always had so many fucking questions about his medications but never about how they were affecting him. As long as he stopped being an inconvenience at home she didn’t fucking care if he was always shaking, or couldn’t sleep, or was tired all the fucking time, or couldn’t eat because he was nauseated whenever he saw food.

 

There was a hand on his shoulder again. He jerked out of his mother’s grip, “Stop fucking touching me!”

 He could feel his chest heaving and he dug his nails into the palm of his hand as well as he could. Once he started scratching himself in the hospital they cut them.

“Hi there Connor, I’m Carol, one of the nurses here. We can end with vitals if you’re not feeling up to being touched, how does that sound?” Her face was kind and neutral, no sign of fear or disgust at the way he'd snapped at his mother. 

He sat up on the bed, crinkling the white paper as he tried to find a comfortable position. He saw his mother’s falling face and white hot shame and anger and devastation filled his stomach. He wanted to disappear.

He dropped his head into his hands and tried to keep tears from falling. He couldn’t do anything but hurt people, he was a fucking plague to the world and his family. He failed them constantly.

He couldn’t even fucking kill himself right.

Now he was here in this stupid locked down facility where they would pretend like he could be anything other than who he is. Carol, trying to give him time to calm down as if he was ever _not angry_. His throat tightened at the thought of his mother getting false hope that he could get better. Zoe and Larry couldn’t care less about whether he came home or not and that was fine, Connor knew they were worse off with him in their lives and he couldn’t blame them.

 He hated himself more than anyone else in the world could possibly hate him.

But his mom, his fucking mother, she always wanted to try everything to make him into the son she wanted him to be. And her stupid hope made him so sad and angry because she keeps leading him into another failure and herself into another disappointment.

He missed all of the conversation around his new medications and the process for discontinuing the ones that weren’t working. A clipboard was shoved under his nose and he signed it without even looking it over.

 He wasn’t planning to live to see the effects of the new drugs or whatever anyway.

 “Can you remove your sweatshirt please?”

Connor would usually ask his mom to leave, but when he was in the hospital last she’d seen everything, the overlapping scars, old and new, on his arms. The occasional perfect circle where he put a cigarette out on his arm.

The nurse unwrapped his arms and made polite conversation with him as she reapplied some anti-bacterial shit and wrapped them again. He zoned out as she took his blood pressure and temperature. She listened to his pulse and breathing and he wondered if she would still be this gentle with him when she saw how horrible he could be.

With a quick goodbye, he was ushered off to the next appointment where he had to meet his new therapist, Emily. 

He glared at the stupid degree on the wall and ignored what she was saying.

“Connor, please look at me.” Emily's voice was calm and collected, “I understand that you don’t want to be here, but you can leave as long as we check off a few boxes right now, okay?”

He pulled his gaze down to the desk where a sheet of paper and a pen awaited him.

“Safety plan?” He wrinkled his nose.

“For if you start to feel like you want to hurt yourself or others.”

 More anger, it was always anger, “So you think I’m some kind of psychopath?”

“No, I don’t think you’re a psychopath. I think you’re a normal teenage boy struggling with his mental health. This is just to make sure you’re safe during your stay here.” She pushed the pen toward him and he scowled. 

“It doesn’t matter what we do here. I’m a fucking disease and nothing is going to fix me. The second I get out of here I’m going to fucking off myself, okay? And maybe for the first time in my life I’ll actually succeed at something.”

His mom made a choking sound from the chair next to him and he stood up, grunting and shouting in frustration as he kicked the chair and punched the brick wall with his bare knuckles.

He whirled around at the sound of another one of his mom's choked sobs, “Stop acting so upset, Cynthia, you, Larry and Zoe can’t fucking wait for me to never bother you again. You’ve already signed me away here, you can go home and stop the fucking act.”

“Connor, baby, we all love you.”

“Stop lying to me!" He scraped his hands against his scalp and pulled his hair, "Zoe is fucking scared of me, Larry hates me and I’m your fucking pet project that never turns out the way you want. If you cared about me you would just let me fucking die!”

Connor punched the wall again and kicked the trash bin across the room. He sunk to the floor, pressing his face into his knees and burying his hands into his hair and pulling, pulling, pulling as he tried to breathe. He wanted to hurt himself so badly, if he hurt himself maybe he could stop hurting others.

His mom was crying, again. He always made her cry.

He couldn’t stop the hot tears and hiccuping breaths. He wanted to die, why couldn't he just die? The world would be better off without him, he never did anything right, he hurt everything he touched. He couldn't be saved, he couldn't be saved, god he couldn't breathe. Maybe this could be the end.

“Connor, can you hear me?” His therapists voice was soft, and he was grateful because everything was so fucking loud. He nodded.

“Good, I want you to hold this ice pack. We need to stop the scratching. There you go, you’re doing so well, breathe with me okay?”

Connor stayed curled up, but held the cold pack against his forehead. His breaths still stuttered, but he could hear his therapist.

“In for four counts, Connor, one...two….three...four…”

He didn’t know how long they sat there breathing, but it was long enough for Connor to come back to himself and realize that his mom and Emily had joined him in the corner of the office on the floor.

“Connor…” His mom whispered and the tentative peace Connor had established was broken. He fell into his mom’s arms, burying his face into her neck.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, there’s something wrong with me, I’m a monster, I’m sorry.” Connor sobbed into his mom’s blouse, and she held him tightly, hands carding through his long, greasy hair.

“I’ve got you, sweetie, we’ll keep trying, whatever it takes, you’re going to be okay.”

Connor eventually sagged against his mom and rubbed at his eyes. He felt so small.  He allowed his mom to guide him back to the desk where the unfinished safety plan was sitting.

“Let’s try to make our safety plan again, Connor. Let me know if you need a break, we also have some assessments to complete.”

Connor nodded and handed the warm ice pack back to her. She smiled and put it away before rummaging in her desk.

“You can look through these, Connor. They’re just fidgets that might help occupy your hands. Lots of people find that they help with stress, anxiety, anger, and urges to hurt themselves. I want you to take a few of them with you.”

“Um, okay.” Connor peered into the plastic bin that she placed on the desk.

“While you look through those, I’ll start asking some questions. These are three signs that I’m feeling suicidal…”

Connor answered with whatever came to his mind first, until they got to the last part. He froze.

“Connor? Did you hear the question?”

He nodded and looked down at the squishy, sad-looking egg toy he had in his hands, “Yeah, I just don’t really. I don’t have any friends or people to call, or whatever. So.”

“What about your mom?” The question was gentle, even though Connor wasn't sure how someone could make a question gentle.

He shrugged, “I guess. I just - I already make her cry and I don’t want to be a burden or whatever. Um, she has enough to focus on and it would just, uh, disappoint her more. I think.”

“Mrs. Murphy, I’m wondering what you think about Connor calling you if he’s feeling suicidal?”

His mom’s voice was watery and she brushed his hair out of his eyes before speaking. He could see her working to control her wobbling chin and shaking hands. 

“Oh Connor, you could never be a burden. I’m your mom, I decided to devote my life to you the second I heard your heartbeat for the first time. I feel like the last few years I haven’t been able to reach you. It’s like you were screaming behind a glass door I couldn’t get through. Please call me, baby, I’m trying to learn how to help. I want to be there for you but sometimes I don’t know how to reach you or help you.”

Connor nodded and another tear fell onto his cheek. He wiped it away roughly, “I don’t know what would help me, either.”

“We can all figure that out together. It will be some trial and error, and it sounds like we need to rebuild some trust and talk about the relationships in the family.”

Connor inhaled sharply and squeezed his egg thing, “I don’t want to see Larry.’

“Con-”

“Of course, Connor has the right to decline visitors when they come. Mrs. Murphy, would you be okay with focusing on you and Connor in therapy at first and revisit bringing Mr. Murphy in once Connor is feeling more stable in his relationship with you?”

His mom sighed and pet his head again, “Yes, of course, I don’t want him to be overwhelmed. It’ll be good to take it slow.”

“Thanks,” Connor mumbled under his breath.

“Now, let’s move onto some assessments. The first is a diagnostic assessment, this is to make sure Connor has the right diagnosis. This will help guide his treatment team and make sure he’s getting the best care possible…”

 

It was a long day. By the time he was saying goodbye to his mom and joining the community room with the other residents, it was almost 3pm. His eyes felt heavy and swollen and he just wanted to lie down. If he had to talk, he might cry or yell and that always ended badly. He was looking around the room, taking note of all the kids there - some of which looked very young. He wondered what his life would have been like if he’d come here earlier.

“Hi there! I’m Dawn. I’m one of the tech’s here.”

 Connor looked at her and she smiled at him, “Uh, hi.”

“I can show you around the community room if you’d like? There are a lot of things to do here when we have leisure time. We’ll also go over our sharps policy and the daily schedule.”

Connor was sick of fucking clipboards. He knew it shouldn’t be making him angry (who got mad at a fucking clipboard?), but it was and he wanted to rip it from Dawn’s hands and throw it at the window. It would be nice if the window broke. If he wasn’t only one story up he’d throw himself out, too.

He stared moodily at the ground until she let him go, saying there would be a welcome group in a little while, once they started yoga.

Connor went to the back table where there were art supplies and only one kid hunched over a notebook.

Connor grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil from the middle of the table and began to draw. He didn’t really think much about it, just sort of doodled on the paper until he was interrupted. 

“Um h-hi.” The kid across from him was speaking, which was not great, because people had been talking at him all fucking day and Connor just wanted it to stop, “I-I’m E-evan.”

Connor sighed and finally looked up at the kid, “I’m Connor," The kid looked familiar, "Hey, don’t you go to my school?”

Evan’s eyes widened, “O-oh, you’re Connor M-murphy. Y-yeah.”

“You hang out with that Kleinman asshole.”

Evan looked down and picked at his cast and Connor felt momentarily guilty for making the other kid sad.

“H-he’s just a f-family f-friend. He h-had to t-talk to me so his p-parents would pay his c-car insurance. H-he hasn’t even c-come to v-visit.”

Connor shrugged, “Told you he was an asshole.”

Evan gave a hesitant chuckle, “Hey, would you m-maybe sign my c-cast?”

Evan held out his arm. The cast was blank and Connor figured he probably didn’t have any friends and he sure wasn’t on the other side of the room where kids were talking and watching the TV.

“Sure.” Connor rummaged around in the bin for a good marker and then covered half the cast with his name, “So does this mean we’re friends now?”

Evan looked like a deer caught in headlights, “S-sure!”

Connor pursed his lips, “So what’re you drawing.”

Evan blushed and turned his sketchbook around and there was a rough sketch of a tree and some facts about it scribbled on the side of the page.

“So you like trees.”

Evan nodded, “They’re o-one of the most important c-contributors to the ecosystem. D-did you know…”

Connor was content to listen as Evan rambled about trees emphatically. He nodded along with the boy’s words and found that his anger began to dissipate. Maybe he could make it to the end of the day. 


	2. Laughter can go away (and come back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor was trying so hard and it wasn’t fucking working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is writing itself right now and I'm kinda excited about it. I think there are fewer f-bombs in this chapter 
> 
> TW for vomiting, mild self harm and panic attacks in this chapter. 
> 
> Shoutout to PatchworkRabbit for commenting on my fic, you gave me heart palpitations <3
> 
> I'm also so thankful for everyone who left Kudos on the last chapter.

Connor was sitting down at dinner, picking at his food. He stabbed the noodles with a fork and tried to eat them but his stomach turned. Giving up, he put his head down on the table. God, he was so fucking tired all the time.

His psychiatrist told him it was the medication changes, that he might feel nauseated as he went off the antidepressants and onto the mood stabilizer. He pushed the plate away, the smell of the food made him want to gag.

“Um, are you - are you okay?” Evan’s hesitant voice pulled him out of his fog and he looked up.

“Yeah, just nauseous.” Connor put his head back down. He didn’t really feel like talking. He felt the telling pressure behind his eyes that signaled coming tears. He needed to breathe, holding his breath wouldn’t keep the tears away. In for four….hold. He tried to focus on his breathing like he learned.

Being nauseated wasn’t a reason to cry. His ears began to ring and his shoulders shuddered. He watched with blurry eyes as a tear fell onto his jeans. He should’ve brought that damn stupid egg thing downstairs with him because now his skin was itching like he needed to get out of it, god he just needed to get out of his skin.

Fuck, he couldn’t fucking breathe. Coughing through a sob, Connor got up from the table and rushed toward the door that went out to the patio. He could hear quick footsteps following him and he barreled through the door.

He wasn’t supposed to leave the facility on his own, he knew that, but he was suffocating. He was suffocating and he couldn’t even fucking think because of the meds and his stomach was coiling in tight knots because his mom and Larry were going to hear about this and they were going to tell him he needs to try harder and try harder and Connor couldn’t do that.

He was trying so hard and it wasn’t fucking working.

With his next sob he lowered himself onto the cool brick, wet with the heavy air that came after a rain.

He knew someone was with him but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Connor hugged his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth as he gasped for air and tried not to gag on it.

It didn’t work, he couldn’t breathe right and the next thing he knew he was throwing up on the brick.

He lowered himself down to lay on the ground and pressed his cheek into the cool brick as he continued to cough. His throat was burning and his mouth tasted horrible and he felt clammy.  

“Connor.” 

He felt gentle hands helping him up, “Connor can you hear me?”

The voice was ringing in his ears and it was so fucking loud so he flattened his hands against his ears because he couldn’t fucking take it. He hated this, hated himself and he dug his fingers into the skin around his ears and pulled on them until he could feel the warm wet feeling of blood on his hands.

Someone was tapping on his shoulder.

Four beats, pause. Four beats, pause. Four beats, pause. Again.

He coughed again and opened his eyes. His therapist Emily was crouching next to him, her lips were moving but her voice sounded muddled and removed, like he was underwater. He could see her shoulders rising with deep breaths and he tried to follow her, but his lungs quivered and he kept shuddering and the tears kept coming back and he dug his fingers in even harder because he was going to float away, fuck, he was floating away and the only thing keeping him there was the pain, pain meant he was in his body and he could breathe if he was in his body.

He came back to Emily again, focusing on the way she tapped his shoulder until suddenly someone was guiding one of his hands away from his ear and placing an ice pack into it. Ice packs helped, he used them before and he pressed it against his forehead while he tried to catch his breath. 

“Connor, can you hear me now?”

He nodded with a wheezing sob.

“Can you tell me something you can see?”

Connor opened his eyes, “Shoes.”

“What color are they?” She asked and Connor took a deep breath so that he could speak.

“Black.”

“Good, now what is something you can hear?”

Connor sniffled and tried to focus beyond the ringing in his ears but he couldn’t, he couldn’t hear anything else, “There’s just -” He gasped for more air as panic swept over him again, “Ringing, I can’t fucking h-hear.”

“You can hear me, focus on my voice, Connor. Do you know who I am?”

Connor nodded.

“I need you to tell me, Connor. Can you tell me who I am and where you are?”

Connor nodded and stifled the next sob that wanted to escape him, “Emily. My th-therapist. I’m at Sunstone t-treatment center.”

He was shaking now, but the world was starting to solidify around him. His tears were abating, slowly, and his breaths were coming a bit easier. He didn't know how much time had passed.

“I threw up.” He stated pressing the ice pack to his sweating forehead. His stomach turned, “I think I might be sick again.”

He heard Emily say something reassuring and he turned around to vomit again. His mouth tasted so badly, and he just wanted to lie down somewhere and never wake up again.

“Connor, are you feeling ready to go inside? I’d like the nurse to look at your injuries.”

Connor brought his hand to the damp area on the side of his head on touched it, wincing at the sting for a moment before looking at the red-orange smear of blood on his fingers, “Oh.”

He stood up on shaky legs and Emily scanned her badge to let them back in. He was quiet the whole way. He could hear the questions swirling around in his therapists mouth as the nurse looked him over and wiped over the small punctures and scratches with an alcohol wipe.

“You’re good to go, Connor.” The nurse smiled at him. Her name was Anne and she would always come into the community and draw or play games with them when she had a free moment. Connor thought she was nice.

“We’re going to stay in here for a moment, Anne.”

She nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“What happened downstairs? I want to understand so we can try to prevent it from happening again.”

 

She was being way too gentle, and it might have made him upset yesterday or even a few hours ago, but right now his heart was fighting it's way out of his body. Connor swallowed, “I was - I was trying to eat but the medications are making me feel _so sick_ and I’m not getting any better and I swear I’m trying - I’m trying but how can anyone know if I still want to go to sleep and just never wake up, I don’t know-”

“Connor, it’s okay. It’s only been a couple weeks, nobody is expecting you to be better. This is hard and I know you’re trying. You’ve been doing well, but the medications are going to take time. We need to get you off the SSRI slowly, and increase your dose of the mood stabilizer slowly to avoid dangerous side effects.”

Connor nodded, he’d heard this a million times in the last couple weeks.

“It’s going to take time. For now, I want you to keep practicing the other skills we’ve been working on.”

He nodded again. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to go to sleep. Or die. Whatever.

“Connor, your family is here for visiting tonight. I was going to join all of you for an hour to see how you all get along and help out if things start to escalate. Do you remember this?”

Connor shrugged, “Um, I kinda lost track of the days. I’m tired.”

“I know, but I want you to at least try with us tonight. We won’t get into anything deep, just some light conversation. Your mom brought some books for you.”

Connor felt a little bit of energy at the mention of his books, he missed being able to read whenever he wanted. He’d asked his mom for some books the other night when he called her (she had sounded so happy and he felt so guilty for being a horrible son).

“Okay.” He followed Emily back downstairs after they made a pitstop in the community room so he could grab a couple of his fidgets. He knew Emily would talk to him later about hurting himself when he was upset and he didn’t want it to happen in front of his mom, especially since Larry was going to be there and Connor knew it was going to suck and turn out horribly because Larry hated him and thought he was faking it for attention and Connor knew those things because Larry had said them before.

He took a deep breath and squeezed his egg thing tightly.

Visitors must have been allowed in when he was upstairs with the nurse. He made eye contact with his mom, who must have noticed his blotchy face and swollen eyes because she looked sad for a moment and then strode over to pull him into a tight embrace.

He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned in, tentatively wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“Are you okay, baby?” She rubbed her hands in comforting circles on his back and Connor’s throat tightened for a moment.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still scratchy, “Just a hard night.”

He glanced over to the table where Larry and Zoe sat. With a nod from Emily, they made their way over there. Connor sat down and lowered his gaze to his shoes, his hair falling in front of his face so he couldn’t see their faces or their disappointment.

“So, Connor, you ready to come home yet?” Larry’s voice was loud and Connor winced. His ears were still ringing from earlier.

“Don’t be like that, Larry, of course he isn’t ready. It’s only been two weeks.”

“I’m just saying, he’s seventeen, he needs to get a job and get his act together before school starts or he won’t graduate.” 

Connor pulled his legs up to his chest and set his forehead on his knees. He wanted another ice pack. He knew his dad would already be disappointed, he should be better, he needs to be better.

Emily jumped in at that moment and Connor's breath came back, “I don’t think it’s helpful for Connor to talk about school or work right now. Connor, why don’t you tell your parents about your friend while I grab another ice pack for you?”

Emily stood and walked across the room to where the freezer was located.

“You’ve made a friend? Connor, that’s wonderful!” His mother’s voice was wavering with happiness and he looked up from his knees. Zoe was wide-eyed, like she thought he would burst at any moment. His dad looked annoyed, or angry, or both.

He focused on his mom’s bright eyes and cleared his throat, “Yeah. His name’s Evan. He goes to the same school.”

“Evan Hansen?” Zoe piped up, “I can’t believe it. He’s quiet, but he always got good enough grades.” His sister paused for a moment as if searching for something to say.

Connor thought he understood what his mother meant when she said he was behind a glass door and couldn’t be reached. Zoe was speaking to him but it was like they were in totally separate worlds.

“Um, what do you two do together?” Zoe asked, right as Emily returned to the table and gave him the ice pack. He wanted to curl back into his knees but he settled for holding the ice pack in his hands, close to his chest.

“We draw. And he talks about trees a lot, which is cool. He’s really smart. I signed his cast.”

“That’s great, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

Larry scoffed and Connor tried to focus on his breathing. He looked up at Emily with desperate eyes, he was holding on by a fucking thread, he wanted to scream at his dad, tell him he’s suicidal because he’ll never be good enough, why can’t he see that having a friend is big deal to Connor? He hasn’t had a friend since he was seven fucking years old. Tears were coming to his eyes and he put his egg on the table so he could curl up and place the ice pack on his forehead, in for four, hold, out for four.

“Larry, he’s trying!” His mother hissed, trying to be quiet but Connor was sitting right the fuck there.

“Is that gudetama?” Zoe asked loudly, cutting through the beginnings of what surely would have escalated into an argument. Connor looked up to see Zoe pointing at his egg thing.

“It’s my fidget. Emily gave it to me.”

“But it’s gudetama!” Zoe seemed excited by this, “He’s the lazy egg, it’s a character. He’s kinda like Pusheen, you know? He’s really cute! I can’t believe you have one!”

Connor picked up the egg squishy and held it out to Zoe, “You can have it. I have another fidget upstairs. Um, since you like it so much?”

Zoe looked dumbstruck for a moment, and Connor felt his cheeks heating up as his sister left him hanging. He should’ve known she wouldn’t want anything he’s touched, Connor wouldn’t have wanted it either. He’d been horrible to Zoe for years, what reason did she have to believe Connor wouldn’t rip it out of her hand and laugh or yell at her for stealing his things the next day?

Connor felt his throat tighten, “Nevermind, it was dumb, I’ll just -”

“No!” Zoe’s cheeks were turning red too, and her eyes looked glassy. She took the egg toy from Connor’s hand and brought it to chest, “I - uh - it’s really nice. I’m-”

Connor felt panic rise as Zoe burst into tears and cried into the stupid egg toy.

“I-I’m sorry…” Connor’s voice cracked and he tried to repeat his apology again, “I didn’t mean to make her cry…”

His mom and Larry seemed at a loss for words and he was grateful that Emily was there because she seemed to know what to say when things started to spiral and with his family, things were always spiraling and it was always because he did something stupid like give his sister some dumb toy.

“Zoe, if you’re feeling up for it, can you let us know what you’re feeling?”

His sister took hiccuping breaths and each one tore Connor’s heart into pieces and it was giving him heartburn because he would do anything for Zoe but he was horrible, he took everything out on her the past few years and she had been _scared_ of him. He resisted the urge to curl up, instead he focused on the way Zoe clutched the toy to her heart.

“I- I miss Connor. And I’m sad because he’s here and he wants to die and I don’t want him to leave us.” Her chin wobbled, and she looked so much like their mom in that moment, “And h-he always used to give me his things. B-before. Like his candies or ice cream, a-and he would let me take his bike. A-and he hasn’t given me anything in so long.”

“It sounds like you’re happy that Connor’s trying to reconnect with you.”

Zoe nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Shame built inside him, he didn’t deserve his sister. She should hate him, she should yell at him and tell him to never speak to her again. He deserved it after all the nights he’d banged on her door, threatening to kill her over and over again.

“Why?” He choked, tears coming back (fucking weak), “You should hate me. I’ve been so horrible to you.”

“I can love you and still be mad at you.”

“Or scared of me.” Connor supplied, “I know you’re scared of me.”

Zoe nodded in agreement and Connor wished he could disappear again, he wished he never existed so that Zoe never would have been hurt and his dad wouldn’t be disappointed and his mom wouldn’t have to fight to keep him alive just to have him try to kill himself again.

“I’m more scared of losing you, though.” She said in a small voice.

“I’m sorry.” Connor whispered again, “I’m sorry I keep hurting you. I don’t want to, I don’t mean to keep hurting you.”

Connor rubbed at his eyes, trying to dispel the heat building behind them. He didn’t think he could cry anymore today without passing out.

“Connor, do you mind if I pull your parents away for a minute? I’d like to talk to them about our next meeting.”

He looked up and nodded, butterflies erupting in his stomach at the thought of being alone with his sister. If he hadn't thrown up twice already, he might have done it again.

Zoe looked at him, a careful gaze, gentle so much like his mother’s. She moved to sit next to Connor.

“Um, your hair is really long.” She said, her voice was tentative, as if she thought the comment would set him off.

He pulled a strand out as far as it would go and frowned at it for a moment. He looked back at Zoe, “You think I should cut it?”

“No.” She said immediately, “It suits you. You should try pulling it back sometime, I think it would look really good.”

She took a purple hair tie off her wrist and offered it to him. There was a little plastic butterfly attached and Connor took it with a small smile, “Think I would look good with blue streaks? I thought those were pretty cool when you had them.”

Zoe blushed and smiled, “I didn’t know you noticed.”

“You should get them again. Maybe red next time.”

Zoe laughed, “I think dad would freak out. He didn’t like the blue streaks.”

Connor shrugged, “I don’t think dad likes anything but working these days.”

They both fell into silence. Connor decided to break it.

“So, uh, I don’t actually know how to put my hair up.”

Zoe reached out for the hair band and told Connor to turn around. He leaned his head back and swallowed his tears for the thousandth time that day.

He allowed himself to be taken back to the days where Zoe would beg him to play dress up and comb his hair and snap plastic barrettes into it and drag him to their mom to show her how pretty she’d made him.

For the first time that day, Connor’s smile wasn’t forced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Zoe connecting is my weakness. Don't worry, Evan will show up a little more! There are just so many relationships to explore...
> 
> If you're interested in knowing more about the skills Connor and Evan are learning in treatment, feel free to hmu. So far he's been doing A LOT of square breathing and grounding exercises.


	3. I get panic attacks when I'm being looked at

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Evan spend some time together before family night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Connor and Evan's relationship so far. More therapy. Not kidding when I say they are going to take a while. 
> 
> Also writing Connor is much easier for me than writing Evan. Here's to hoping that gets better lol.

 “Connor and Evan, I’d like for you two to work together on the poster for mindreading.”

Connor looked across the room and shot a thumbs up toward Evan, who was staring at him with wide blue eyes, clearly relieved. Probably because he’d been paired with Connor, who was the only other resident that Evan vibed with (or spoke to).

Alice, the therapist leading the group (and who was also Evan’s therapist), finished assigning kids to groups and telling them which cognitive distortion they needed to make a poster about. There were already tons of posters hanging around the room. Connor looked at them when he was bored, some of them were previous iterations of what they were doing now. Others were glittery and artsy and had inspirational quotes.

At least seven of them said Be-YOU-tiful and Connor wanted to gag at the lack of creativity. But also he kind of liked the message, not that he would tell anyone.

Evan met him at the back table after grabbing their large paper from Alice.

“S-so, what do you want to do?” Evan asked, “You’re really good at drawing, m-maybe we could - I mean, if you want to, like, do something with that.”

Connor smiled and reached for his bag of pens and pencils, “Okay, that’s a good idea. At least it will be more unique than the other posters in here.”

He pursed his lips and gazed at the giant Post-it note in front of him, “I do a lot of mindreading. I always think people are laughing at me, thinking I'm a freak and stuff. So maybe we could put examples of our own distortions on there? Like in thought bubbles above the person?”

“Y-yeah!” Evan sounded surprised that Connor had gone along with his suggestion of making the poster more artistic. Connor had a feeling Evan was doing a lot of his own mindreading.

At the top, Connor wrote the definition of mindreading: _Assuming you know what people are thinking without evidence or proof of their thoughts._

As he moved onto drawing the person in the middle of the page, Evan started drawing some more vague figures in the background.

“These ones can show, like, the actual thoughts people are having? T-to kind of highlight the point. Th-that people aren't thinking those things. Probably.” Evan said it like a question, but had already begun making speech bubbles above the other figures.

“I like that,” Connor shrugged. 

The two fell into silence as they worked, occasionally looking up to smile at each other. They began to add color when Alice came over and sat next to Evan.

“Hey boys, this looks great! What’s the plan for the thought bubbles?”

Connor nodded to Evan, signaling for him to explain while he hid behind his hair and continued coloring.

“W-e’re adding the d-distortions to the main person’s b-bubble. And the other figures w-will have the th-thoughts people are actually having.”

She smiled at them, “I think that’s a great idea! So, I’ve been letting everyone know that we’re going to be presenting these at family night tonight.”

Connor snapped his head up and looked at Evan, whose hands started shaking so badly he dropped the marker he was holding.

“You can’t make him do something like that!” Connor stood up and the chair fell backward. He could feel his face turning red with anger. How could they make Evan do something like that? He was afraid to talk to one person and they wanted him to stand in front of an entire room of parents and residents?

“Connor, please sit. I’d like for you to understand why Evan needs to do this.” Alice’s tone was firm, and he took a shuddering breath. He picked up the chair and sat on it, trying to breathe so that he could hear Alice’s words.

Not many adults had offered to explain things to him. His dad and teachers always just said ‘that’s the way it is and you have to do it’ so then, of course, Connor didn’t do it just so they knew he didn’t have to do _anything_  he didn't want to do.

His therapist said this was called a power struggle. And yeah. It was. She also said it was self-sabotaging because they were often things he needed to do so he could have the future he wanted. Like going to college.

That was a big one. He didn’t do homework or go to class, because his parents told him he had to do it. Larry said he would never make it to college with his attitude and Connor wanted to prove him right just so his dad wouldn't get the son he wanted. 

So, yeah. Self-sabotaging. But Connor really wanted to go to college. Not that anyone had ever asked him. He shook himself back to the present, where Alice was staring at him patiently.

“Connor, Evan needs to learn how to manage his distress. Part of that means he needs to be exposed to situations that make him uncomfortable, like talking in front of other people.”

“Seems unfair.” He looked down at his hands and unclenched them, taking note of the half moons on his palms.

Alice nodded, “It is unfair that you and Evan have to face more difficulties than other kids your age. But in the long run it will be better. What if Evan wants to go to college? Or be a park ranger that teaches people about nature? He wouldn’t be able to do those things if he doesn’t practice ways to get through it.”

Connor nodded and looked at Evan, who was wide-eyed and staring at him. He kind of felt bad for knocking over the chair. It probably made Evan feel like all the attention was on them and he knew that bothered his friend.

Probably a friend. As long as Connor didn’t manage to fuck it up by doing stupid things like throwing chairs and making people afraid of him.

“Okay.” He grunted, “I still think it’s bullshit.”

Alice nodded. Connor hated the way therapists nodded like everything he said was interesting.

“This will be hard for Evan, but I paired him with you because you two are friends. And having the support of a friend can make even the hardest situations easier.”

Connor softened at her admission to pairing them together on purpose. He’d wondered why they hadn’t tried to split them up and have them branch out with other residents like they did most other times.

“You sound like a fucking fortune cookie.” He scowled and looked down, “But it makes sense so I’ll do it.”

Alice tapped her hands in a drumroll on the table before standing up, “Evan, I’m going to pull you out for a session after group is over so we can prepare for the family night, okay? I’m not going to throw you in there unprepared, we’ll get you through this.”

Evan didn’t even respond to his therapist, just dropped his head in his hands and laced his fingers through the blonde hair tightly. Connor could tell he was pulling on it and he didn’t know what to do but move to the other side of the table and try to think of a way to help his friend.

Connor’s mom had come to visiting hours the other night with a bag full of fidgets. Stress balls, and tiny squishy animal things, handheld puzzles, and sensory rings that were kind of spiky but not too spiky. He had many of them.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few of them, quickly locating the blue one. Evan’s favorite color was blue, which honestly wasn’t a surprise considering how much blue he wore.

Connor thought it was endearing. He pushed that thought away. 

“Evan?” He tapped his shoulder, “You could have this. My mom brought me a lot of fidgets. This one’s blue.”

Evan looked up and Connor felt his eyes prickle at the sight of Evan’s watery eyes and trembling hands. He reached for it, “Th-thanks.”

“Is your mom coming tonight?” Connor asked, trying to open up the conversation so Evan might get out of his head. He started coloring the poster again, but kept most of his attention on Evan.

“Yeah, she took off work for the f-family nights.”

“What about your dad?”

Connor knew he shouldn’t have asked the second the question escaped his mouth. He’d never heard Evan talk about his dad, and that was probably for good reason.

“O-oh. He left when I was f-four.” Evan’s concentration was focused on the sensory ring he’d slipped over his finger.

Connor felt discomfort and rage burn his throat. Evan was sweet and nice, and _pure_ , how could anyone abandon him? He couldn’t find words to say. He didn’t know what to say to someone whose dad left them.

“He m-met someone else and moved to C-colorado. I-I think part of it was my a-anxiety.” Evan shrugged.

“My dad can’t handle my depression. He thinks it’s stupid and that I’m doing it for attention. Your dad is a fucking dick.”

A small smile graced Evan’s face and he looked up at Connor with bright eyes and Connor had to ignore the way his breath caught in his throat a little bit.

“Yeah, he kind of is.”

“He _definitely_ is.” Subject change, subject change. Connor didn’t know how to talk about shitty absent fathers anymore, “Hey do you have a pass this weekend?”

Evan nodded, “Yeah, but only on Saturday because my mom has to work on Sunday.” More fidgeting with the ring.

“Maybe we could convince our parents to let us hang out, uh, if you want to.” Connor worried his lip.

“What? I mean, yeah, totally!” Evan looked excited, mouth opening as if he wanted to say something else but it wasn’t coming out. Instead, the blond boy blushed and picked up his marker, “We should probably finish our poster.”

Connor chuckled, “Yeah.”

They worked for a few minutes before Connor decided to break the silence.

“And if anyone is rude to you at family night, I’ll break their fucking wrists.”

Evan smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a look at the sensory rings here: https://amzn.to/2K4Dvc3
> 
> They're amazing for anxiety. Also amazing if you are a person who needs to keep their hands busy. 
> 
> Identifying and challenging cognitive distortions is part of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) programs. It's one of the best evidence-based practices for treating depression and anxiety, among other disorder. 
> 
> Learn more about cognitive distortions here: https://bit.ly/2ykcMDh


	4. You are not weak just because your heart is so heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay grounded. Breathe. Use the poster for reference. Three steps. Evan could do it.
> 
> POV Evan for this chapter. He's a very nervous and sweaty boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Evan's POV, I was having trouble channeling him so I figured we could take a trip into Evan's head. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and Kudos! It fuels meeeee.

Evan was sweaty. This isn’t new information. At this point, he should really be better at not panicking about it.

Evan was panicking. Hopefully it would end soon, he really didn’t want to end up vomiting in front of all the parents and the residents, some of which he still hadn’t spoken to despite having been here for three and a half weeks.

He rolled the sensory ring up and down his finger as he stumbled his way through his request for his anxiety PRN at the nursing station. His therapist, Alice, was waiting for him so they could walk down to family programming together.

Stay grounded. Breathe. Use the poster for reference. Three steps. Evan could do it if he just kept remembering the three things. It was easier for him to remember things in threes.

Evan gulped down a glass of water with his medication and the nurse took his plastic cup from him. It was definitely going to end up in the ocean, killing a sea turtle and it would be all Evan’s fault.

He frowned and tried his best to blend into the background. It never really worked, Evan always felt stared at no matter how hard he tried to disappear. Trying to disappear forever resulted in even more staring because now he had to be watched 24/7.

He winced at how loud his footsteps were. Too loud, but Alice didn’t seem to notice, and neither did any of the families when they entered the dining room. He counted them as they walked,  _one two three one two three._

The only person who seemed to notice him enter the room was his mother, who stood when she saw him and walked over to him, hands outstretched until she could pull him into a hug.

It was gentle. His mother’s hugs had always been gentle. She soon pulled away from him and her blue eyes, betraying her exhaustion, searched his face.

“How is it going, Evan? Are you… are you feeling any better?”

Evan nodded. His mom’s face tightened but she smiled, bringing a hand to his cheek momentarily, “I’m so proud of you.”

He cleared his throat a couple times, he never knew how to respond to his mom saying she was proud. Was he supposed to say thank you? Would she say she’s his mom, of course she’s proud of him? Does that mean she would be proud no matter what? So was she actually not proud of what he was doing now? Because it wasn’t about what he was working on here, it was just because he’s her son?

Would she be more proud of a different son?

Evan tried to slow his thoughts but it was impossible. They never stopped, and his mom must have seen the panic currently consuming him because she wrapped an arm around his torso and led him over to the table where Connor’s mom was sitting.

“I met your friends' mom, Cynthia! I thought we could sit together so I could get to know them better! I’m glad you found someone to talk to here, honey.”

Evan did not want to sit with Connor’s mom. Sitting with Connor’s mom meant that he would have to talk to her, and probably shake her hand. And his hands were always sweaty and she would be disgusted and tell Connor he couldn’t ever talk to Evan again and Evan’s anxiety ruined everything it was the reason his dad left and it would be the reason Connor ditched him because Evan was too much, always too much. Too many thoughts, too much stammering, too much sweat.

He started feeling lightheaded by the time he sat down and Connor’s mom smiled at him, her teeth were very white. Were his teeth supposed to be that white? Oh god, he probably had like, a thousand cavities.

“It’s so good to meet you, Evan, Connor’s told me all about you! I’m Cynthia.”

Evan hoped that Connor didn’t say bad things. But they had to have been bad because there weren’t that many good things about Evan, “O-oh?”

He couldn’t even formulate a sentence. He was embarrassing himself and his mom.

“ _Mom_.” Connor said from his chair where he was slumped over, eyes hard as he stared at her.

“Oh stop, Connor, you and Evan are friends. You don’t have to be embarrassed about talking about him.”

“I think it’s great that you two have each other!” Heidi interjected, “Evan have you been writing those letters to yourself?”

“Y-yeah,” He stammered, his face heating. He didn’t want to talk about therapy or his anxiety because it made him more anxious to think about it. And what other people are thinking about him.

“Those are important, honey. They’ll help you build your confidence!” His mom looked so happy that he was writing the letters. Sometimes. They didn’t really help, but he didn’t want his therapist to think he wasn’t trying and he didn’t want his mom to be disappointed because she really thought this was going to work.

“I-I guess.” Evan looked down at the plate of food that his mom had gotten for him before he came downstairs. He didn’t really want to eat, because what if he got really anxious and threw up in front of everyone? That would be horrible. And what if it got on someone? That would be even worse.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by his mom.

“I can’t wait to see your presentation with Connor. I’m proud of you already!”

Evan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he could speak if he tried, he didn’t have words and now he was thinking about the presentation and what he would say because if it wasn’t planned it would be so much worse.

“Evan had some really good ideas for the poster, Ms. Hansen.” Connor spoke up and Evan looked at him and his long hair that seemed very soft.

“Oh, you can call me Heidi, dear. It seems like you and Evan work well together.”

Connor nodded and finished chewing, “He knows a lot about trees. And he talks when I don’t feel like talking.”

Evan could feel eyes on him and he knew his face was turning red so he just pretended to be chewing so nobody expected him to talk but they probably knew he didn’t actually take a bite because they had been staring at him. Oh god.

He was a mess.

“But, uh, he doesn’t really talk a lot with other people. He gets anxious.”

Saved by Connor. All his hope for the night was pinned on Connor.

He focused on picking at his food, and eating an amount that would make his mom happy because he knew that she worried about him eating enough. Connor’s mom and his own mom seemed to be having a good conversation, and Evan didn’t know how he felt about their moms becoming best friends.

He wondered what Connor thought about it. He peeked over to see Connor was also picking at his food with a frown. That wasn’t very telling to Evan because Connor never smiled very much. But at least he didn’t seem angry about their moms becoming friends.

All things considered, the presentation didn’t go that badly. He stammered through the definitions and all the parts he could read off the poster. He helped hold the poster and even though he didn’t look up from his shoes, he didn’t have a panic attack or vomit in front of everyone.

Maybe he could make his letter about that. He hadn’t started one this morning, but he should really put at least one more together before his appointment tomorrow.

When they finally got to sit back down, his mom gripped his shaking hands and pulled him in, his head landing on her shoulder. He didn’t move even though it was a little uncomfortable because he was taller than her.

He focused on matching his breathing to hers, and he didn’t hear or see any of the other presentations. His anxiety meds always made him drowsy when they kicked in. Which Evan didn’t really mind, because his thoughts never raced as fast when his body was being forced into rest.

“Wake up honey, the group activity is over.” He sat up and his mom went in for a hug, “You did a great job up there. I’ll see you on Saturday morning for your pass!”

Evan nodded, “Okay, love you mom.”

He watched in terror as his mom’s eyes became watery, “Oh, Evan. I love you too. So much.”

She hugged him again, placing a kiss on his cheek. The rest of the kids were lining up to return upstairs. Connor was waiting for him, somewhere in between the line and the table where Evan and his mom were saying goodbye.

They lagged back, away from the others, as they went upstairs.

“Th-thanks for doing m-most of the presentation.” Evan said.

“No biggie, I thought you did pretty well considering how upset you were earlier.” Connor shrugged, and Evan remembered how Connor had defended him earlier. That was nice.

“Y-yeah. So it sounds like our m-moms are getting along well.”

Connor rolled his eyes, “She’s definitely going to rope your mom into one of her weird wine mom clubs. Just so you know.”

Evan laughed nervously, he didn’t think that would happen because his mom already didn’t have time for him. But that was too sad for him to share with Connor. So he just agreed with Connor and stopped talking about it. 

They entered the community room and sat themselves at their usual back table. Connor shook his leg for a moment, staring into the distance and Evan searched for something to say to snap his friend out of it.

But suddenly Connor looked at him and reached into the bin, “Wanna play bananagrams? I’ll kick your ass but it’ll still be fun.”

“S-sure!”

Evan liked the way Connor bit his lip in concentration and how his eyes lit up when he made a word and yelled peel. Evan also though Connor had pretty hands, much prettier than his own which had bitten nails and scabbed over cuticles.

But that was probably a weird thought to have. Normal people didn’t think much about hands, Evan thought. But his brain was weird, and he had a tendency to think about his own hands way too much.

He needed to keep all his weird observations about Connor and his hair and hands and eyes to himself because it was not normal and he definitely didn’t want to lose his only friend.

“Bananas!” Connor threw his hands up and Evan smiled, turning over his pieces.

“W-wanna play again? I-I’ll kick your a-ass this time.”

Connor grinned, his teeth white like his mother’s, and agreed. Evan’s heart jumped his throat. He was happy that he could make his friend smile like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! If you have suggestions or anything you hope to see in the story (tropes, etc) let me know! Please no mean comments tho. I am very sensitive and my therapist would probably be weirded out if I brought it up in session lol. 
> 
> <3 Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Also I forgot to mention this before but Sunstone is a fake treatment center. I tried googling but idk where the musical actually takes place so...
> 
> Title comes from Andrea Gibson poem "The Nutritionist"


	5. When your enemy is your own red blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor prepares for a day out with his mom and Evan. The Dear Evan Hansen letters make an appearance. Dawn and her clipboard also visit the story again. Connor still wants to throw it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT FOR THIS CHAPTER: Passes are a therapeutic intervention (?) where residents leave the facility for a (planned) day. It is planned with the therapist and support person that will be with the resident during the day. 
> 
> Back to Connor POV! There will probably be occasional interludes of alternate POV (especially Evan) during the story. Hopefully that isn't too jarring lol. 
> 
> Thank you so much to anyone that has commented! I've been doing my best to respond to everyone's comments! As always, feel free to ask questions or suggestions!

Connor leaned against the headboard of his bed, rubbing his eyes with probably more pressure than necessary in an attempt to wake himself up. He didn’t have to look at the clock next to him to know that it was 6:30am. The techs came into their rooms at the same time every morning, turning on lights and looking tired themselves but putting on a cheery voice.

Connor groaned. 

He had never been a morning person, or even an early afternoon person. He preferred the groggy one o’clock awakenings where everyone was already doing their own thing and he didn’t have to worry about his family trying to make plans with him.

Now, he had no choice but to plan his weekends because he had passes. It’s not that he wasn’t happy to get out of Sunstone for the day, it’s that he had to spend the entire thing with his family.

Mostly his mom. Connor, his mom, and Emily planned that on Saturday his dad wouldn’t be around so that Connor might have an easier first pass. He was relieved. He knew that if his dad was around, the entire day would be ruined because he would make some stupid insensitive comment about Connor trying to kill himself.

Even without his dad, the day would be exhausting. Lately, he didn't really feel like moving around. He missed the days where he could curl up under his covers for the entire day, contemplating how insignificant he was and sleeping in a deeply dissatisfying way. 

Once he had showered and brushed his teeth, Connor made his way to the community room where he spotted Evan at the back table, biting his lip and staring down at a notebook. His leg was shaking uncontrollably.

He threw himself into the chair next to his only friend, “Sup,” he tilted his chin toward Evan in greeting and then squinted at the notebook, “What’cha working on?”

Evan hummed, “Th-therapy assignment.”

Connor stared at him, waiting for his friend to elaborate more. Evan wasn’t always great at social cues, so when the boy started to look distressed by the fact that Connor hadn’t responded, he asked _what_ the assignment was.

“I have to write these letters. Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day and here’s why…”

Connor sat up and leaned forward, frowning at the page with nothing but the opening line written.

“I h-have trouble finding the good things in my day.”

“Here, I’ll help.”

Connor snatched a red marker from the middle of the table and wrote on the rest of the page, in all caps: B/C I GET TO CHILL W/CONNOR MURPHY FUCK YEAH

Connor capped the marker and tossed it onto the table in front of him, smirking as he watched Evan blush a pleasing shade of pink and stammer through something incomprehensible.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to bail on the playdate our moms set up for us, Hansen.”

Evan folded the letter with shaking hands, “N-no! I want to. I- I think this is good enough for today’s letter. I-I’m not planning on doing anything else.” 

Connor laughed and wished he could see the look Evan’s therapist would have when she saw that letter, “Are you going to give it to your therapist? Does she read your letters?”

Evan nodded, “I-I hate writing them. I think too much and that’s like, the opposite of what they’re supposed to make me do. It’s supposed to be automatic or whatever. But I can’t really, like, n-not think.”

“Connor! Evan!” Dawn, the tech with the clipboards, was smiling at them too brightly for 7am, “I have your pass sheets, come check in with me when you’re done filling it out!”

Connor grabbed his and picked his red marker back up, filling it out quickly and handing it to Dawn, who had taken a seat across from him at the table and was now flipping through the papers on her clipboard. Connor still wanted to throw the damn thing.

“Great!” She gave it a glance over and Connor almost asked her to move somewhere out of earshot so that Evan couldn’t hear his check in or whatever. But his friend seemed to be anxiously writing paragraphs in the small boxes on the sheet and Connor is pretty sure he won’t hear anything anyway.

“So what challenges are you anticipating on pass?”

Connor wrinkled his nose, “I wrote it on the sheet.”

She nodded, “Yeah, but I want to talk more about it. Tell me why you think not being able to be alone is going to be a challenge.”

“Because I hate my family.” Connor’s voice was short. He didn’t want to talk about all this shit, he didn’t want to process or whatever, “It’s going to suck.”

“That sounds like forecasting to me. I’d like you to challenge that thought distortion.”

Connor groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, slumping back in his chair. He stared at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling until they started giving him a headache behind his eyes.

“I know you can challenge this thought.” Dawn was bringing out her firm voice, and if Connor was a normal person he would probably think about changing his attitude immediately. But no one would ever like him, no matter what he did to try to make them happy so he just kept staring at the lights.

“Whatever, I can’t predict the future, blah blah blah, I’m going to hang out with Evan. It will be good or whatever because we’re friends.”

“Forecasting can be dangerous because it can lead to self-fulfilling prophecies.”

Connor knew she was going to go off about it, so he just kept staring while Dawn spoke.

“Take a test for example. You think, I’m going to fail this test no matter what. So you don’t study, and _because_ you didn’t study, you _actually_ fail. But that didn’t have to be the outcome. Your belief about the situation impacted the way you went about things and created the result you predicted in the first place.”

Connor sighed.

“So, if you go into this pass thinking there will be a fight with your family, or that your time in the park will suck, then all the bad things will pop out and you’ll convince yourself that the belief is true. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah it makes fucking sense.” Connor wanted to say more. He wanted to say that no matter what he did, every day sucked. Nothing could change that. His dad didn’t like him, he was a failure and _that_ wasn’t a distortion, that was verbatim what Larry fucking said to him.

“You didn’t write any goals down. I think challenging two cognitive distortions you have while on pass would be a good one. I want you to keep practicing that skill.”

Connor shrugged, he really wanted this to be over, “Can we be done checking in?”

“I just want to go over your safety plan.”

“I’m not going to fucking kill myself.” Connor rolled his eyes. He wasn’t an idiot, it’s not as though he would have enough time alone (even if he could find something to do it with).

“What about self-harming?” She asked gently, but not too gently, which Connor was grateful for because when people talked to him like he was about to snap then he started feeling like throwing shit.

The first thing to go would be Dawn’s fucking clipboard.

“Fidgets. Talk to my mom. Draw on my arms instead. Hold ice.” Connor recited the things he talked about with his therapist in session. He didn’t know if he would actually be able to remember them or use them in the moment if things became too much.

Dawn nodded and began to write in the staff section on his sheet, “Those are great skills to use. Do you want to check in about anything else?”

“No.”

She smiled at him, “Okay, you’re good to go! Thanks for checking in with me, Connor.”

Connor didn’t say anything back, just began examining his nails and trying not to think about anything because he felt like the fucking breeze against his neck would set him off.

Evan and Dawn moved to the hallway to check in, which left Connor to himself as much as he could be by himself in this place. His nail polish was chipped. He frowned and wished that he had some here, but it wasn’t allowed. Probably because they thought he would huff it or drink it or some shit.

Sometimes Connor felt like he was losing the only parts of himself that, well, made him _him._ Nail polish shouldn’t be that fucking important. He crossed his arms on the table and buried his head in them.

He might as well shut his eyes until his mom got here and try not to think about how it could be possible for him to be alive and still fade to nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Connor and Evan hang out on pass. 
> 
> ALSO I SAW THE MUSICAL TONIGHT AND I CAME BACK TO LIFE AND ALSO CRIED (multiple times). Those songs got me through so many depressive episodes during college. 
> 
> I'd love to from you all about how this musical has impacted you.


	6. It hurts to become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes on his first pass - he's having a bad day. He and Evan hang out. Shameless references to For Forever ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw DEH a week ago! It was amazing and I cried. 
> 
> I had some trouble finishing this chapter, but I hope you like it!!! Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos!! They keep me going when I hit a wall. This chapter was a struggle at some points.

When his mom picked him up, she hugged him and Connor didn’t know if he wanted to push her away or cry. He was on edge, and things were really not clear on whether he was sad or angry. All he knew was that it was causing his stomach to turn and his skin to itch in a way that made him feel irritable as fuck.

“I was thinking we could get breakfast. There’s a little cafe not far from here with great Yelp reviews…”

Connor hated the hopeful look in her eyes. He didn’t respond, just leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes and hoped his mom got the message. His mom was really trying, and she deserved a son that could try harder. He could never do enough for them.

The car stopped and he held back a groan. They were definitely at the cafe.

“We’re here, sweetie.” She shook his shoulder and Connor gritted his teeth.

“I don’t want breakfast.”

“You need food, you look so thin these days.” His mom rubbed his shoulder and had a concerned frown on her face. That was unhelpful comment number one of the goddamn day and it hadn't even been thirty fucking minutes. 

“I said I’m not hungry!” Connor lashed out, checking his shoulder a bit to get his mom’s hand off of him and then dropped his head into his hands, “Fuck. I didn’t mean to yell, can we just go home? I just...I’m having a bad day.”

The anger in his chest was too much. He needed to breathe but he knew he couldn’t. He wrapped his arms around himself.

He knew his mom’s eyes would be teary, so he didn’t look.

“Okay.” She breathed in deeply and restarted the car, “Okay, we can go home and you can rest.”

The car ride home was silent, and Connor stared out the window. He didn’t have anything to say, and if he did, it would probably be mean and rude and his mom was probably hoping to have a really good day with him where he would be better and he would want to spend time with her and he already fucked it up. God he was such a fucking screw up.

He cleared his throat and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes again. He didn’t need to cry in the fucking car and make his mom more worried about him. He could feel her eyes looking at him every couple minutes already. He just wanted to go to bed.

When they arrived at the house his blood felt like molasses in his veins. He couldn’t have moved quickly even if he wanted to, so he took a labored breath and shuffled into the house, his mom’s eyes following him like a hawk.

He couldn’t even imagine getting up the stairs to his room so he went to the living room and collapsed face down on the couch. Taking a deep breath, he allowed a couple tears to fall as he soaked in the somehow comforting scent of his house.

The couch dipped where his mom perched herself on the edge of the cushion. She ran her hands through his hair and her touch didn’t feel as abrasive this time.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His mom’s forgiving tone sent him spiraling into tears and he turned to bury his face into her side while he shuddered with emotion. He fucking hated crying.

“I’m sorry.” He choked, “Today was supposed to be good and it’s not. I’m still so angry and sad about everything.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She wiped at his wet cheek, “You’re sick. It’s only been a few weeks, and they said it would take six for the meds to help.”

“I’m always so tired.”

“They said the constant exhaustion is common for bipolar depression. That’s why it didn’t go away with the SSRI’s, remember? We got a new medication. We’ll make this better. It’s okay.”

He hated his mom’s optimism. But he didn’t want her to give up on him either. He was really fucked up.

“I feel so out of control.”

“I know, baby.” She grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and placed it on top of him, “Why don’t you try to take a nap. It’s only 8:30.”

He sniffled and pulled the blanket up to his chin, letting his eyelids, heavy with tears, fall shut.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was his mom pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He doesn’t dream. He doesn’t really anymore, unless it’s a nightmare. Which is basically a summary of his entire life. Nothing, unless it fucking sucks. Which is probably mostly his own fault.

When his mom shakes his shoulder, he’s already awake, trying to force himself back to sleep. He opens his eyes and sits up with a yawn.

“We have to leave in a while to meet Heidi and Evan at the park. Are you feeling any better?”

Connor nodded, he didn’t feel as angry. His bones felt a little less like lead, “Yeah. A little bit.”

His mom smiled and handed him a mug, “I made you some tea. It’ll help you wake up.”

Connor was warm from his nap and didn’t feel much like eating or drinking anything. He wasn’t ever hungry recently, but he still had to eat. Everyone at Sunstone liked to remind him of that.

He took the mug from his mom, “Thanks. This is great.”

He took a sip and it was….actually pleasant. And calming. He took a bigger sip this time and his mom’s smile reached her eyes.

She sat down next to him and began folding the throw he’d used.

“So, Heidi and I were thinking that we could walk some of the trails at a park near here. I suggested Ellison Park, but Heidi didn’t think that was a good idea. It’s beautiful up there in the summer but she couldn’t be convinced.”  

“That’s where Evan tried to kill himself.” Connor offered up. His mom’s eyes widened and Connor wasn’t sure he should’ve said anything.

“Well,” His mom dropped her hands on the folded blanket, “That’s good to know. I’ll make sure not to suggest that park again.”

Connor nodded, “So we’re just going to….walk around?”

“It’ll be good for you two to get some fresh air. Exercise and sun exposure are really good for lifting mood. I mean, I know it won’t fix things. I...I guess when your dad didn’t want you to do therapy I was grasping at straws with those retreats. But just because it’s not a cure-all doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

Connor finished the rest of his tea, not responding to his mom. She’d always been into alternative stuff, alternative diets, alternatives to therapy and medications. He stopped trying to fight about it a long time ago.

His therapist also said the same things about exercise and sun though. So he didn’t really have grounds to call his mom a nutcase. He’d actually said that before. Guilt crashed over him. Maybe he should say something, so she doesn’t think he feels that way about her.

Connor cleared his throat,“You’re right, mom. I think going outside more would help.”

She seemed to brighten and pulled him into a hug, “I’m proud of you for trying, Connor. Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll take care of your mug and grab my purse.”

He didn’t really have to do anything to get ready. He didn’t want to see his reflection right now, because he probably looked like shit and he didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

Connor was feeling inexplicably nervous about seeing Evan outside of Sunstone. He tried to focus on the places where his shoes were worn out. Thinking about Evan was making his stomach feel weird.

Or maybe he was just hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything today.

“Alright, let’s go!” His mom guided him out the door and they got in the car, turning up the AC because the car felt like a fucking sauna.

Connor gazed out the window for a while and furrowed his brow when his mom pulled into the McDonald’s drive thru.

“You used to love McDonald’s. Do you still like it? We can go somewhere else, I just want you to eat something.”

Connor’s mom was going crazy. He knew he shouldn't say that, especially since he was feeling guilty about it just before they left. Cynthia _never_ let them have fast food, not since she started the weird stuff with organic food and strange cheeses and all whole wheat, low fat products.

“What?” He really didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

His mom sighed. She looked tired, older. It made Connor’s chest twinge.

“I want you to feel in control of _something_ . I know I’ve been overbearing with the diet fads and I know you and Zoe hate them. So, you can eat what you want. As long as you are eating something _and_ it meets your nutritional needs.”

Connor’s jaw dropped.  His mom looked dead serious, the crease between her eyebrows made him think she must have considered this for a while. He wondered if Zoe said something. Or if Emily did.

“Um, thanks. Can I have, um, 2 cheeseburgers and fries? And a chocolate milk.” He didn’t want to sound like he was taking advantage of his mom’s flexibility so he didn’t pick soda. She would probably be happy about the calcium. His mom was fucking weird sometimes.

Once they had food, Connor dug in. He was actually hungry now, and the food honestly helped him perk up a bit. He still didn’t know what normal people did at parks, because he usually used them to get high and that was definitely _not_ happening today.

Connor saw Evan and his mom immediately when they got to the parking lot. Heidi was dabbing sunscreen on Evan’s face while he tried to flinch away and Connor tried to hold back a smile.

“Oh look, they’re here!” His mom sounded surprised, or maybe excited. 

Evan began to walk toward Connor but Heidi grabbed her son’s arm, “Don’t think you’re getting out of sunscreen. You burn so easily.”

Connor bet Evan would be blushing long enough that nobody would even notice a sunburn.

“Can I use some Mrs. Hansen?” Connor asked. Heidi immediately agreed and was soon applying his own while Evan tried to be discreet about watching him while fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Once he was done he turned to his friend, “So what do you do at parks? I don’t know what normal people do at parks.”

“I usually look at...at trees.”

“I usually get high. Sounds like we’re looking at trees.” Connor smiled, but he was sure it was twisted.

“My mom and I m-made conversation notecards.” Evan was blushing and it made Connor feel lighter. Evan was hilarious (and adorable).

Connor tried to seem nonjudgmental, like conversation cards were a totally normal thing to bring to a casual get together with your only friend, “Cool, what’s on them?”

“The first one is, um, music?”

Connor nodded, “I listen to pretty chilled out stuff. I really like Elliot Smith, and he had like, this mysterious and dramatic death.”

They walked into a clearing and picked a spot to sit in the grass, which had little yellow flowers interrupting the rich green grass.

“H-how did he die?” Evan’s voice was pitched a little higher than usual.

“They thought he might’ve been murdered. He was stabbed in the heart. Very crime of passion-ey, and he had just had a fight with his girlfriend. He was like, known for making sad music and being suicidal, though, so a lot of people thought he killed himself.”

“Oh.” Evan chuckled, “Stabbed in the h-heart is really dramatic.”

“But his music is really good. He sings about addiction and depression and some are kinda romantic in a sad way. I guess I relate to it a lot.” Connor lay down in the grass and Evan followed. He could hear their moms’ voices a few yards away, chatting.

“M-maybe I should listen to some of his music.” Evan commented, and Connor made a mental note to give Evan a list of his favorite songs.

“What do you listen to?” Connor asked, looking over at Evan, who was twisting and rolling his conversation cards in his hands. Evan laughed nervously again.

“I listen to like, lo-fi mixes? Sorry, it’s weird. But s-sometimes it helps my anxiety.”

Evan followed Connor’s example and laid down next to him. Connor looked over, appreciating the way Evan’s blond hair contrasted with the grass.

“I like that stuff too.” Connor bumped his shoulder into Evan’s and smiled at him, “So what’s next on the list?”

Evan lifted his cards and flipped to the next one, “The future.” Evan made a strange humming sound and then laughed nervously. The future was a touchy topic, and Connor was sure it was for Evan as well.

“I have trouble seeing a future for myself.” Connor let them lay in silence for a second. Evan was nodding, like he agreed. He cleared his throat, “But I always wanted to go to college.”

“M-me too. But it’s so expensive.”

Heidi and Cynthia walked over, “Hey boys, we should keep going. We want to get ice cream before we leave!”

Evan and Connor stood, brushing themselves off and finding the trail again.

Connor figured he could pick up where they left off.

“It always felt like I’d be able to be myself if I went to college. Maybe find a boyfriend or join a book club, find people like me. Nobody here gets me, or even tries. What do you want to do?”

“S-same, college would be cool. I always wanted to see the Appalachian trail.”

“I wanted to write a book. I used to write a lot.”

“I-It’s hard to want things again. I’ve wanted everything to g-go away for a l-long time. Oh my gosh!”

Evan walked quickly over to a bush and began picking things off of it. He jogged back over to Connor and held his hand out proudly, “Raspberries!”

“Can you eat them?”

“Yeah of course! They’re smaller because they aren’t cultivated or anything, but they’re perfectly fine.”

Connor grabbed a couple and Evan was grinning more than he’d ever seen. The raspberries were actually really good.

“These are awesome. I’m glad you know so much about plants.”

Evan blushed again, “Thanks.”

They walked in silence for a while, besides Connor occasionally pointing to a tree and asking what it was. It was actually really nice. The fresh air and talking to Evan was really lifting his mood.

They were soon out of the park and crossing the street to A la Mode. Evan’s hands began shaking again and Heidi pulled him aside.

“You can do this, honey! It’s okay if you stutter, all you have to do is say what you want and I’ll handle the rest.”

Evan made his little humming noise again and nodded for a long time. They all ordered, and Evan successfully stuttered out his order, which made Connor feel strangely proud, so he bumped his shoulder into Evan’s and smiled at him.

Evan looked down at his shoes and continued fidgeting with the worn hem of his shirt.

They got their ice cream and sat down outside with their moms, who were talking excitedly about meeting up sometime later in the week, sometimes pulling Evan and Connor into the conversation.

Evan was mostly quiet, and Connor could tell he was trying to focus on his breathing.

“Hey, Evan?”

“Y-yeah?” Evan’s blue eyes were wide and slightly panicked.

“We’ll get there someday, ya know? To the future things we talked about? When we get through this, we’ll do them together.”

Connor really hoped he could keep his promise. He was still ambivalent about living his life, but he wanted Evan to live his. So. Both of them could use some hope. 

“O-okay!”  

They smiled at each other and ate their ice cream until it was time to go. Their moms hugged goodbye and Connor put his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do with them.

Evan broke the silence, “Th-thanks for hanging out today.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Evan. You’re, um, a good friend.”

“Y-You are too. See you later?”

Connor smirked at the question, they were going back to Sunstone. Of course they were going to see each other later. To someone else, Connor would probably roll his eyes and say that.

To Evan, he nodded and smiled.

“Yeah. See you later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naps are great for turning a bad day around. They help me reset. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!!! I love hearing from y'all. Happy Sunday - I'm heading to work now.


	7. My half-tamed addictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes to church, Alana Beck makes an appearance and he paints his nails. Larry picks a fight, and it all goes downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the tags pls, this chapter could be triggering. Unhealthy coping mechanisms ahead. 
> 
> Also I know next to nothing about going to church so hopefully it's not wildly inaccurate. My only experiences in church were going with my host family while I was living in the DR.
> 
> This chapter ended up long, hope you enjoy it!

Connor’s dad and sister were in the car when his mom picked him up. They must be going out to breakfast at that cafe his mom found. Yesterday went way better than Connor expected, so maybe today would be okay - even if his dad was there.

 Zoe actually smiled at him when he got into the backseat.

“Connor, are you hungry? We can pick something up before church if you want?” His mom turned back to look at him. No wonder his mom was dressed up so much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to church with his family.

“I’m not hungry” Connor grunted, “Do we have to go to church? Can’t you just drop me off at home?”

“Connor, you know we can’t leave you alone-“

“You could use more of God in your life, Connor. Maybe you could turn yourself around.”

Connor rolled his eyes, bitterness rising up his throat so fast he could taste it on the back of his tongue, “I am _trying_. I just don’t think God has ever helped me and I don’t think he’s about to start now.”

“Connor, don’t say that-“ his mom’s voice was strained. Zoe was staring out the window.

“Why not? It’s the fucking truth!” He crossed his arms and scowled.

“This discussion is over. We are all going.” His dad’s tone told him he’d be getting nowhere fast with this argument so he grumbled and tried not to fight anymore. He knew his mom wanted this day to go well. He focused on counting his breaths. It made his anger a bit more manageable. But every time he looked at Larry he wanted to fucking punch something.

They pulled up to the church that Connor remembered, the communions and Sunday school and youth groups. He probably hadn’t been there since he was 13. He didn’t want to go inside.

He did it anyway, mostly because he didn’t have much of a choice. They moved through to the middle pews so they weren’t in the front nor the back. Connor recognized some of the people but didn’t make eye contact. The last thing he needed was to have his cheeks pinched by his mother’s friends who exclusively wore pastels.

He sat down and stared at his shoes. He didn’t know what to do or say while his parents were socializing and he was just waiting for mass to begin.

Zoe pulled the kneeler out and turned to him, “Do you want to pray with me?”

Connor felt uncomfortable. There was a time where he and Zoe always prayed together before mass, deciding beforehand what they were going to pray for. Usually it was candy or a new toy or for their bedtime to be extended.

Connor didn’t know if he had anything to pray for.

“Zoe, I don’t even know what I would say,”

“It’s fine, just, just think or whatever. I just, we used to do this together. I know you’re mad but...please?”

He nodded, Zoe’s sad yet hopeful eyes removed any semblance of fight he had left. Now he was just resigned to the fact that he would have to endure two hours of this shit and eat a nasty ass cracker that stuck to the roof of his mouth at the end.

He kneeled next to his sister and closed his eyes, raising his palms up toward the ceiling. God, this felt weird. He didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know what he wanted, if he even wanted anything, from God. Fuck. He couldn’t do this.

When everything was falling apart and he couldn’t stop punching walls or threatening his sister or feeling fucking depressed for no reason, he had called on God. He had fucking cried himself to sleep kneeling next to his bed, praying for the fucking demon inside of him to get out.

Why had he been abandoned? Fuck being given only challenges he could overcome. He couldn’t do it, that’s why he tried to kill himself three fucking times. He had prayed for the pain to end and the anger and sadness and hurt to go away.

He didn’t fucking ask to get sick. Nothing happened when he was 12 to make him suddenly start hating himself, suddenly start thinking about death and coming up with ways to kill himself.

He thought he was being punished but he didn’t know why. Maybe he was just bad and God knew it, and now he was being punished and it would never end unless he ended it himself. And then he would be tortured in Hell for eternity. He couldn’t fucking win.

He lost hope. He didn’t understand how people could keep their blind faith, keep hoping and praying even when everything continues to fall to shit. Did his mom and dad pray for him? Did they wonder if Connor was fucked up so badly that not even God could help him?

He couldn’t be saved. He _hadn’t_ been saved. Not when he was asking God for help.

Either God didn’t exist or he was a fucking asshole.

Connor wanted so badly for something to exist. To help him through, to love him unconditionally no matter what, love him when his dad couldn't. God was supposed to do that, to help him find his way when he was lost.

He actually _might_ want to find his way through his depression and shit this time.

If there was any time for God to show up, it would be now.

Connor prayed.

Please...pleasepleaseplease _pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his prayer and he looked up at his mom, suddenly feeling the tears on his cheeks and his ragged breathing and she pulled him up into a hug. How long had he been crying? Whatever. His dad didn’t seem to notice and that’s mostly what matters.

The service was starting so he hurriedly swiped the tears from his cheeks and zoned out, thinking about what the fuck just happened.

He hadn’t like, lost himself in prayer in years. Not that Connor praised God in his meditation. He actually kinda indicted the guy for fucking abandoning him or whatever. He felt a little more grounded than he did before, though, which was nice.

The service passed slowly, and Connor spent a lot of it zoning out. He wanted to get out of here so he could nap again and paint his nails and maybe hang out with Zoe if she’s around.

When they pulled up to the house, Connor hopped out of the car and gave no input into his mom asking about what everyone wanted for brunch. Connor was actually a little bit hungry, but he didn’t really care.

Once he was in the house, he ran up to his bedroom. He hadn’t been in his room for weeks and he smiled and collapsed on his bed. It was just as comfortable as he remembered, he turned to his bedside table.

“Fuck yeah,” he mumbled and grabbed his phone, which (thank the lord) had been plugged into the charger. He untangled his earbuds and opened Spotify, ignoring the few concerned text messages he had.

They were pretty much all from Alana Beck. He didn’t remember ever trading phone numbers with her.

With a sigh, he put on some lo-fi and closed his eyes. He drifted off into a light sleep until Zoe was poking at his shoulder. He sat up, disoriented, “What? Oh.”

“Mom and dad want you to come down for lunch. Brunch was nixed when mom came upstairs and you were asleep.”

“Oh.” Connor paused his music and stretched, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Is this going to be a disaster?” Zoe asked, “Are you in a bad mood?”

Connor shrugged, “Not really. But Larry is Larry, so no promises.”

Zoe didn’t respond, just reminded him that it better be an actual minute or Larry was going to throw a fit. Connor took the hair tie Zoe gave him off his wrist and pulled his hair back.

He quickly washed his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and avoiding looking at the bathtub where he’d made his second attempt. He wondered what his family saw when they looked at the tub.

He hadn’t ever seen Zoe enter this bathroom since the night she found him.

It was fuzzy. He remembered looking up and seeing her blurry face, she had been speaking but Connor didn’t know what she’d been saying to him. He didn’t really want to know. Knowing that Zoe was still shaken by that experience is what made him bring the pills to the park.

He’d thought it was the last nice thing he could do for his sister. That she wouldn’t see his death.

It was a pretty fucked up thought.

He tried to shake the thoughts from his head as he entered the dining room and took his usual seat at the table.They started the meal in silence, but it wasn’t filled with tension, which was a welcome change from pretty much every family meal they had before Sunstone.

“How was your nap, Connor?” Cynthia asked, reaching over to brush non-existent lint from his shoulder.

Connor swallowed his bite of (surprisingly good) pasta salad, “Good. It was nice to be in my own bed again.”

“You’ll be home soon enough, sweetheart.”

He wouldn't be home for months and they all knew it. Connor looked up at his dad, who seemed to be keeping himself from contributing to the conversation. The topic dropped, and his mom switched gears, asking Zoe about her plans for the coming week.

Connor noted that most of Zoe’s plans involved Alana Beck, who was the one person that seemed to notice that Connor had disappeared for the last couple weeks of the school year.

“Are- uh, you and Alana close?” Connor asked, and Zoe seemed surprised. She was probably surprised that Connor was actually listening. Honestly, he was too.

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Did you tell her what happened? She’s sent me a bunch of texts. I didn’t even know she had my number.”

Zoe’s nose scrunched up in the way it did when she was thinking, “No. I haven’t said anything, just that you were sick for the last couple weeks of school. She asked if she could drop off your missed work.”

“Oh.” Connor stared at his empty plate.

“What did she say?” Zoe asked. She was always snooping and curious but Connor didn't really care about what Alana said so he didn't mind telling Zoe. 

Connor shrugged, “I didn’t read them. The first one just said ‘It’s Alana Beck from school’.”

Zoe hummed and stacked her empty glass onto her plate, “You should message her back. She’s nice.”

Connor tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, “I guess. I don’t really know what I would say.”

“I’ll help,” Zoe offered, “Maybe you two could be friends, I mean, she doesn’t have very many and she’s not judgmental. I’ve never heard her say anything bad about you.”

Something uncomfortable twisted in Connor’s stomach and he regretted eating so much because now he felt sick. They fell into silence again until everyone was finished and there was no reason to stay at the table anymore.

“You two kids can go, I’ll clean up here.”

“Go get your phone.” Zoe ordered as they stood from the table, “I’m going to grab my nail polish. Your nails are chipped.”

“Black.” Connor said, a little sharply. He winced at the sound of his own voice. He just couldn’t seem to get rid of his underlying frustrations. He knew Zoe didn’t tease him about his black nail polish to make fun of him.

Zoe lifted her hands in surrender, “Okay, no other colors. But I still think red would suit you.”

Connor gave her a twisted smile as they walked up the stairs, “Red? Over my dead body.”

Zoe stalled outside her room and looked at him with wide eyes. Oh fuck. He fucked up.

“Don’t say that. Please.”

“Fuck Zoe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just-” He really needed to think about what he was saying. He didn’t even think about how his sister would be affected by a stupid phrase. Fuck.

She took a deep breath, and Connor thought it was a little bit shaky, “It’s an expression. I know.” Her words were slow, maybe careful, “But, not now. Not after…”

“Okay, yeah. Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Meet me in the living room, I need to get my stuff put together.”

He rushed over to his bed and picked up his phone, shoving it into his pocket. His heart was beating in his chest and he closed his eyes. _B_ _reathe, breathe, it was an accident._

He didn’t mean to hurt Zoe, but he always did. He couldn’t fucking stop hurting people, even when he was doing everything not to. He stopped himself from fighting with his dad over church, and he didn’t mention how his dad barely looked at him during lunch.

Connor was making an effort, he was trying to reconnect, but every time he tried it was like there was a giant rift that he couldn’t cross or get rid of.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have people, wasn’t meant to love or have people love him.

His skin itched, his blood was burning in his veins and tears were burning in his eyes. He knew where he had a blade hidden in here. He could use it, just to numb out a little bit before trying to sit with Zoe and pretend everything was alright.

He was reaching for his broken alarm clock when Zoe poked her head into his room, “Hey, you coming?”

Connor cleared his throat and stood, “Yeah, sorry. I got distracted.”

They relocated to the living room and they sat on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table. Zoe placed a bottle of black nail polish in front of him.

“So what did Alana say?”

Connor pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the messages, reading them aloud to his sister.

_May 18, 4:07pm: Hi Connor. This is Alana Beck._

_May 18, 4:07pm: I noticed you haven’t been in school for a couple days. I could grab your homework if you want?_

_May 20th 6:52am: It’s no big deal if you don’t want me to._

_May 20th 6:54am: Sorry, that sounded passive aggressive. I meant that I understand if you can’t focus on school at the moment._

_May 22nd 3:35pm: I know we aren’t close acquaintances but if you want to talk I’m here_

_May 22nd 3:35pm: I’ve volunteered as a peer counselor before_

_May 23rd 7:04am: Zoe’s been gone for a few days. Is everything okay?_

_June 5th 3:01: Happy summer! Maybe you, Zoe, and I could hang out sometime!_

Connor started to type, but couldn’t get much further than _hey alana,_ before stopping.

“What should I say?”

“Well, how much do you want her to know? You should thank her, though. She’s been asking about you.”

“Okay.” Connor typed some more, _thanks for offering to help. zoe said you’ve been worried, but im okay._ Send.

 _you could maybe visit me with zoe sometime if u want._ Send.

A text came back almost immediately, _Glad to hear you’re okay! I’ll definitely come to visit, I’ll set it up with Zoe._

He didn’t know how to respond so he didn’t. Connor put his phone facedown on the table and focused on painting his nails. He and Zoe sat in comfortable silence until their father’s heavy footsteps came down the hall, “Still painting your nails? I thought you said you were trying, Connor.”

Zoe’s head snapped up and Connor focused on applying his top coat. He didn’t look at his dad, he would lose his shit if he looked at his dad right now.

“I am. What does painting my nails have to do with it?” His voice was tight, he knew it. He knew this was going to end badly because he just baited his dad into one of his tirades about how Connor was a shitty son.

“Because you’re still making yourself look all depressed! The hair, nails, black grunge clothes? You need to man up, you need to stop trying to be a goddamn rebel and get your act together! You’re seventeen!”

Connor slammed the clear polish onto the table and stood, “Right, because painting nails is obviously a symptom of depression. I can’t just _like_ having my nails painted?”

“It was cute when you were a kid and liked to play with Zoe, but it’s not cute anymore! It’s time for you to grow up, Connor! No more “bipolar” mood swings, no more sleeping all day, it’s about time we enforce expectations in this house.”

Connor clenched his fists at his sides, trying to focus on the way his nails dug into his palms. Stay in control, stay in control. He heard his mom’s quick footsteps entering the room. He begged her to say anything, anything to distract from the rage turning his face red and making his blood feel hot, burning and burning him. His own body was hell.

“You can’t make up dumb fucking rules and hope they change me! Taking my door and taking my car and invading my privacy never fixed anything!” Connor spat, turning toward his dad, who was crossing his arms and frowning.

Connor hated that expression on his dad's face, hated that it hadn’t changed since he was 12, “It’s not my fault you didn’t get the perfect fucking son you obviously wanted.”

He avoided his mother’s gaze, avoided looking at Zoe, because he was already fucking mad at everything and he didn’t need to hate himself any more than he already did, “I will _never_ be what you wanted, Larry, you could rip my fucking nails off if you want but that’s not going to erase the fact that I’m a fuck up who you’re embarrassed to call your kid.”

“Connor, be realistic, you can change your act. Stop hiding behind excuses, admit your mistakes. You can’t blame it all on being bipolar.”

He walked toward his dad, moving so they were toe to toe, Connor staring him directly in the eye. Since when were they the same height? Connor had always felt so small next to his father.

“Fuck you. Fuck you for not ever believing that maybe something is actually wrong. Did you ever consider that maybe I actually wanted to fucking die when I tried to kill myself? I never asked to be alive, I never asked to be saved and I definitely never asked for your fucking opinion.”

Connor stalked up the steps and toward his room, shaking, and upon realizing he didn’t have a door to slam, he screamed in frustration and punched the wall, and it caved beneath his fist. His knuckles smarted but he didn’t fucking care. He wanted all the feeling to go away, he couldn’t handle all the anger and disappointment and self-hatred. With shaking hands he opened the battery pack of his broken alarm clock and pulled out the razor he’d hidden there.

He could hear his parents’ voices downstairs, his mom’s wavering like she was crying and his dad’s stern and filled with conviction.

Tearing apart his bookshelf, he finally found his hollowed out teen bible. He grabbed a joint he’d rolled a while back and his lighter. It would probably be old and shitty but it would do the job. Then he locked himself in the bathroom, leaning against the bathtub.

_“He’s trying Larry! What happened to not bringing this up? We’re supposed to meet him where he’s at, that’s what the therapist said!”_

_“I don’t care! He’s my son and I know what’s best for him!”_

" _He wants to die, Larry! I don’t think you’ve known what’s best for him in a long time!”_

Connor put the blunt in his mouth and lit it, taking a long drag. He just needed it to stop. He needed his heart to stop pounding in his chest, needed to forget his dad’s words and his mom’s tears and the way he could hear his blood rushing in his ears.

He smoked until his hands stopped shaking enough for him to grab the small razor blade and pull his sleeve up.

God, it felt good. It felt so good to feel the tension and stress leave his body with his blood. He just wanted to feel numb. He was sick of feeling his emotions, he hated it, and his stupid therapist wanted him to do it all the time.

 

He didn’t want to care. If he was numb, he was better at not caring. His dad’s disappointment and angry words didn’t hurt as much if he was numb.

Connor stopped crying, just focused on smoking and cutting and ignoring the yelling from downstairs and Zoe’s loud music. She always turned it up when their parents fought.

The voices downstairs stopped and Connor swore, pulling his sleeves down and exiting the bathroom after tossing the last dredges of his blunt out the window. He collapsed in his bed just as his parents turned the corner of the steps and entered his bedroom.

“Great, it smells like pot up here. He’s _really_ trying, Cynthia. Therapy is _obviously_ working.”

“Larry, just stop. Connor, we have to go. You have to be back at 4:30 and we’re already running late.” She looked so fucking sad. Her eyes were wet and red with tears.

Connor would have felt sad if he wasn’t so fucking empty.

It was better this way. He held the sleeves of his black sweater down so his mom wouldn’t see the rest of what he’d done. Everything was blurry around the edges, the rest of the world disappeared when he was high and he could just exist. Exist without the pain, without the bad emotions.

They didn’t speak on the car ride back.

When his mom was signing him in, she told the tech taking him about what happened. He played with his sleeves. He let his mom pull him into a hug, which was too tight.

“Oh, Connor. Oh, baby I’m so sorry. I love you.”

Connor nodded, “Love you too, mom. I’m sorry for being such a fuck up.”

“You’re not. We all love you.”

He looked down and shuffled over to the tech, who was not Dawn, and Connor couldn’t remember their name. He wasn’t planning on greeting them anyway.

“I’m going to bring you to nursing. Someone will sit with you one-to-one until you’re sober enough to rejoin the community.”

Connor didn’t say anything, just followed them into the exam room where he was asked to change into a gown so they could make sure he didn’t bring anything into the facility. He couldn’t blame them.

Anne, the nurse he liked, didn’t gasp or become upset when she saw his bleeding arms.

“Well, we better get these cleaned up. None of them appear to need stitches, but they aren’t superficial by any means. Were you trying to kill yourself, Connor?”

“No.” He answered, his own voice sounding far away, “I just needed to not feel anymore.”

“How much did you smoke?”

Connor shrugged, “Hard to say.”

She nodded and Connor wondered how she was so calm and collected. He was a fucking mess, sitting in nothing but a gown, arms sliced open and eyes red and heavy. He probably smelled like weed because he hotboxed the fucking bathroom.

“What happened to your hand? It’s bruised.”

 

“Oh.” Connor had forgotten about it, “I punched a wall. It broke.”

Laughter suddenly bubbled out of him and he couldn’t control it. Something about the wall caving in, and the image of his dad patching it up with a scowl was _hilarious._ He wrapped the arm Anne wasn’t working on around his ribcage and tried to control his laughter, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t control it, it was weird. He felt euphoric, which was strange, because he wasn’t happy. He hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time.

“Connor, take some deep breaths.” He tried, but laughter kept bursting from his chest against his will.

Unexpectedly, it began to turn to sobs and Anne was rubbing his back and whispering comforting things that he wasn’t comprehending. Once he had a semblance of control, she brought him to his room where he collapsed on the bed.

It wasn’t like his bed at home, but he couldn’t be sad about it now because he was fucking ripped out of his mind, so he just curled up and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep.

He still didn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaah poor Connor. He still has a long way to go. More Evan and Connor to come in the next chapter! 
> 
> I'm loving the process of exploring Connor's character a little more. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, or how you imagine Connor's character! I live for your comments and kudos. 
> 
> See you soon!


	8. Ghosted by Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor talks with his therapist. He snaps at Evan. He receives a letter that starts with Dear Connor Murphy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT***
> 
> Huge TW for references and vague discussions about previous sexual assault. Also TW for talk about drug use. Also talk about a previous suicide attempt.
> 
> Also THANK YOU so much for the comments and kudos. It gives me life and inspires me to keep writing!

His arms were crossed as he sat in his therapists office. He knew why he was here. He was here because he came back from pass high as fuck and with arms sliced up like they were fucking lunch meat.

“Connor, what happened this weekend?” Emily’s tone was non-judgmental, open. Connor hated it. Hated himself. Hated Emily.

“I went home and it was the same as I left. Nothing changed, I’m not a different fucking person just because I make posters about how to fucking breathe. Therapy isn’t going to make me a new fucking person.”

He brought his legs up and hunched his shoulders. He didn’t want to talk.

“Okay. I want you to know that we aren’t trying to make you a different person, we’re trying to help the real Connor come out.”

Connor looked up at her, and he knew his face was cold and mean. _Mean_. He was a mean person.

“I’m angry and depressed, and I’m a fuck up - a - a disappointment. I’m a fucking addict, a freak with long hair and painted nails. Those things don’t change when I leave here.”

Emily’s eyes were sympathetic, “Those statements sound a lot like what other people might say about you.”

“Yeah.” Connor scowled, “But they’re right. I-I’m, I guess if I’m not those things….then I’m not anything.”

“I think we should talk about identity a bit more, Connor. Identities can be helpful and important, but making them absolute and unchanging, that’s not fair to you.”

A heavy silence settled over the room and he didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t think anything or anyone had been fair to him.

Emily seemed to recognize that he wasn't going to respond to what she said, “You had interests and relationships and a personality before all of this. Right now, all the other stuff is in control. You can take back your control.”

Connor threaded his hands through his hair and shut his eyes tightly, hoping that the twinging sensation of oncoming tears would go away, “I was trying. I always feel out of control, I make my parents fight. The smoking and cutting - they _help._ ”

“I know. At the end of the day, self-harm is survival. I get that. But it’s not a healthy coping mechanism. I get that it feels safe and easy to use those symptoms to calm down. But if you keep practicing -”

The therapists always went back to the same fucking things, he hated their broken record speak,

“Yeah, skills. Whatever. No matter what I’ll still be a depressed addict, even if I can learn to fake it most of the time.”

She nodded and switched gears, “Let’s talk about your substance use a little bit more.”

Her tone let him know this was territory he wouldn’t be able to avoid.

He didn’t want to tell her about it, “You have my records. I’m sure you’ve read them.”

Therapists were fucking nosy.  

“All I know is that you went to rehab, and that you’re still using cannabis at this time. I wanted to hear the rest from you.”

Connor looked up in surprise, how had she not read all about it? He dropped his knees and suddenly felt himself open up, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t like talking about it. But something about Emily’s calm demeanor and deliberate effort to hear his side of things got through his defenses.

The knots in his stomach unwound and he felt like he could finally breathe, like he had a chance to be heard because Emily was still looking at him, leaning forward, all her focus and empathy and caring radiating toward him.

“Um. I guess it started my freshman year. When I was fourteen. I went to a party. I really wanted friends and thought if I went I would be, cool, or something. I don't know. It was dumb.”

“What happened at the party?”

He worried his lip for a moment, “I had a drink, but I didn’t like it. I must have made a face. Some older kid came up to me and handed me some pills. He said they were much better than alcohol.”

She finished the story for him, “And you took them.”

Connor nodded, “It was like, all the pain went away. I felt light and happy, and I hadn’t been happy in _so long_.”

Tears began to pool in his eyes and Emily became blurry. She pushed a box of tissues toward him and he grabbed it, wiping at his eyes and nose.

“It got out of control really fast. I wanted more, right away, so I found the guy at school and asked for some. He gave me some for free, as a favor.”

He began tearing at a tissue, breaking it into strips and rolling it between his fingers, Emily wasn’t saying anything, so he continued, “He was nice to me, let me sit with him at lunch and go to the park with his friends when they smoked.”

“Is that the first time you used cannabis?”

Connor nodded, “It was fun, I liked having friends and they wanted to be around me and I hadn’t really had that before.”

“How was your depression?”

Worse. Every time the high wore off, it got worse and I went to him for more. He told me I needed to start paying and I did. I used all my savings, and I stole from my parents and Zoe.”

“I went to more parties, because people would just hand you things. I- the money didn’t last long. My parents cut everything off. They were worried, they knew I was getting high.”

“Is that when you went to rehab?”

He shook his head, “No. Not until I, I tried to kill myself. Everyone thought it was an accidental overdose, but I was sick of it. I felt _sick_ …”

He pulled his legs back into the chair and hugged them to his chest. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. The memories were coming back, and he didn’t want to think about them but they _wouldn’t stop coming._

“Connor, what’s coming up right now?”

“I feel sick. I can’t stop the m-memories.”

“Memories of what?”

_You have such a pretty mouth, baby. Why don’t you join us in here, we’ve got Oxy’s, I’ll give you enough to last you a couple months._

Connor could hear himself hyperventilating, he could feel himself shaking and Emily was pressing something into his hands. It was another ice pack. In the back of his head he wondered where she kept getting them.

“You don’t have to talk about it now, Connor. It’s okay. I'll still be here when you feel ready.”

“N-no. I want to. I-it was my fault anyway. I got so hooked - I was sick if I wasn’t high. It was so bad when I wasn’t high. And I thought, it’s not a big deal, you like guys and th-they like you...”

“Whatever happened wasn’t your fault, Connor. It wasn’t your fault and I need you to know that.”

The tears were coming fast now. He couldn’t stop them and he was sobbing into his knees, “I-I agreed because I needed the pills. I was already high, but I needed more. A-and I wasn’t even scared until it was over and I- I walked home.”

“What happened then?”

“I-I took all of them. I felt so empty, and being high didn’t change anything about how I felt. So I took all of them and I felt so free. I remember thinking _finally, finally it’s over_ ”

He rubbed his eyes, “After that my memory fades in and out. I remember crawling up the sidewalk to my house. I couldn’t open the door.”

Emily was nodding along, her eyes concerned and caring. Connor doesn’t want to look at them anymore because he doesn’t deserve that. He’s the one that fucked up at every fucking turn.

“I remember vomiting, and my mom yelling for my dad. Saying it was different this time, that she thought I overdosed.”

“And they didn’t know it was intentional.”

He shook his head, “No. I came home really fucked up all the time. They took care of me a lot. Now I don’t think they can see me as anything else but a fucking addict.”

More fucking tears, he ripped more tissues out of the box and roughly wiped at his face and neck, which was getting damp now because he was a fucking mess.

“Have you taken pills since rehab?” Emily asked, and he knew this was part of some sort of required assessment, like when she asked him if he had a plan to kill himself, if he could access that plan, and if he could keep himself safe. Those were always the same questions, no matter where he was - the hospital, here, the guidance counselor’s office at school.

He shook his head, “I just smoke now. Drinking always makes me suicidal for like, days. And the point of getting fucked up is to stop feeling that way. Y'know?”

She nodded, and Connor appreciated that she believed him about the pills. Her serious demeanor didn’t change, “Are there any other suicide attempts you haven’t told me or your parents about, Connor?”

“No, no. Will you… not tell them about the first overdose?”

“I’ll let you tell them when you’re ready.” Her voice was assuring, and Connor knew she could trust her, “What’s keeping you from telling them?”

“I don’t want them to know how fucked up I am. I don’t mean to hurt people, but I always do. My mom - she really wants it to work this time.”

“You’re a very caring person, Connor. You deserve to be cared for, too. I think if you let your family see the real you - all the struggles and the caring, they would still be there for you.”

Connor shook his head and gave an empty laugh, “The less they know about me, the better. I-if they knew who I really am, I’d be even more of a disappointment. It would be easier for everyone if I had died the first time.”

If he recovered, if somehow he decided that he wouldn’t kill himself after leaving here, they would see him. See that the “true” Connor wasn’t who they thought he was.

He would never make his dad or his family happy. Not with the person he was underneath it all. He hated that person, that unlovable, disgusting person. He didn’t want to tell Emily about it yet. About how he was different, different in a way that was _wrong_.

His parents thought there could be a better, normal Connor underneath. He knew there wasn’t.

“Earlier you said you would never be more than a depressed addict, but we both know there’s more than that. You know who you really are.”

“I hate who I really am. I - I don’t want anyone to know, I wish _I_ didn’t know.” Connor suddenly felt the way his hair fell against his neck and onto his shoulders. He carried his hair like it was a secret, a secret people didn’t know was right in front of them.

“I’m getting the impression that holding onto being depressed, or being an addict,  keeps you and others from acknowledging the real Connor. I feel like you’re hiding, or maybe even protecting yourself, from you.”

He wanted her to stop saying things like that. He didn’t want here those things out loud, things that he already knew but sounded so much sadder, so much worse and desperate and ugly when said out loud.

He took a ragged breath in and sobbed into his knees and Emily let him cry and sob for a while, telling him to let it out and that it was good to cry when he needed to. Once he calmed down enough to breathe and talk more, Emily made them write a self-care plan for the rest of the day which he knew he probably wouldn’t follow because he just wanted to sleep and block out the rest of the world. He felt so fucking empty and tired and maybe even a little bit lighter.

“Our session is over, Connor, but I’m here until six if you need me. For next time I want you to journal about the parts of yourself you’re hiding, the parts you’re afraid of facing.”

He probably wasn’t going to do it.

Emily added to the assignment, “I’d also like you to touch on what you liked and who you were when things weren’t as bad. And I want you to write about who you would want to be if the anger and depression and mania were under control.”

He nodded, sure that if he did that assignment he would go spiraling back into the depths of misery. Right now he was barely able to keep his head above water. And it was a precarious situation.

Connor returned to the community room irritated and still crying. At this point he wasn’t even embarrassed if people saw his tears. Everyone cried in this place. He collapsed on one of the couches and buried his face in his arms. He wanted to just be alone.

“H-hey. Are you okay?”

“Obviously I’m not fucking okay.” He snapped, and he couldn’t find it in him to feel bad, “I’m not really in a mood to talk right now, Evan.” He had talked with Emily for an hour, he was done fucking talking.

“O-okay. Sorry.”

Silence fell over the two of them and he felt relieved, he focused on his breathing and he knew he would feel bad about snapping at his friend later but right now he just wanted to relax and think about his session with Emily.

It had gone better than he thought it would. He’d been sure that Emily would be angry and disappointed and tell him he needed to work harder because what he did was unacceptable.

But she said she understood, understood that it was survival and that he was hurting. And he was, hurting. He was hurting so much.

The rest of the night passed quickly, he and Evan orbiting around each other but not talking. He could practically feel Evan vibrating anytime he got close, and Connor still didn’t want to talk. So he didn’t. As they passed each other at the nurses station on their way to bed, Evan held out a folded piece of paper. Connor took it, and Evan immediately darted away.

Connor sat up in bed and unfolded it, ignoring the conversation his roommates were having. He never really talked to them. At this point they happily ignored each other.

 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

 

_Today definitely wasn’t a good day for you. I don’t think yesterday was either because your arms are wrapped and that probably means something happened. I’m sorry I talk so much, I get nervous but I still want to be friends if you still want to be friends? I had a really good time on Saturday. I hope you feel better soon._

 

_Sincerely,_

 

_Me_

 

Connor read through the letter multiple times, and he wanted to feel something, but he felt hollow. He carefully folded the letter and grabbed his composition book and put it in the back. He’d revisit it later.

Now, he just wanted to sleep. If he was asleep he didn’t have to think about anything at all.

Unexpected emotion welled in his throat for a moment and he shoved his face into his pillow. God, how fucking sad was it that he would rather choose nothing at all? He never thought the other side would be better. He always thought it would be nothing, finally, there would have been nothing at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to realize that this story is becoming a big Connor Murphy character study. I'm currently reading the DEH novel and a lot of Connor's past doesn't follow that, but I might try to integrate parts of it. But who knows. This story has taken on a mind of its own. 
> 
> Also I have some future one-shots that I've written bc random inspiration hits. LMK if you would be interested in having them posted before this story completes!!


	9. A future in your back pocket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Connor was right - Larry thought his son would be different, and he'd tried to fit him into the mold. He knows he has to change. He doesn't want his family to fall apart.
> 
> **CHAPTER UPDATED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Larry's head. 
> 
> I didn't really expect to write this, but I needed to explore more of Larry's beliefs and motives. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read my story. I hope you all enjoy this brief interlude.

Larry came home from work late, since he knew that his wife was going to a mother’s support group hosted by Sunstone. They had originally planned to visit Connor together later in the week, but after Sunday she hinted that he should stay back. His chest was hollow, so much space beneath his ribs for exhaustion to build up. He felt like both his son and his wife were pushing him away and he had so little energy to fight it.

Without his family in the house, he went to his office and sat at his desk. He felt like he was becoming his own father, distant and picking battles sparingly, most of which wouldn’t make much of a difference in the lives of his family. His own father had been a hard man, and becoming invulnerable and closed off - that didn’t sit well with him. Becoming his own father was the last thing he meant to do when he and Cynthia brought their children into the world.

He wanted to teach them the same lessons, show them they could do anything and become anything because just a couple generations ago, the Murphy family had next to nothing.

Larry’s father had lectured him on this subject often, about hard work and achievement. They had something to prove when they moved to the city. His dad got rid of his drawl, but Larry would sometimes hear it again when he listened to his dad compliment and say sweet things to his mother. It would come back when he was angry, too.

Larry’s father was an angry man. He always had something to prove, and Larry always had the feeling that he was part of that proof. If Larry was successful, then his dad won. He had learned to stop playing in the mud, to stay inside and learn so he was best in his class.

_These city slickers aren’t the only ones with brains, Larry. You need to try harder._

_Murphy’s don’t quit, Larry, you’re going to keep playing basketball and you’re going to be the best on that team. It doesn’t matter if you like something or not, you have to keep trying to be the best._

And he did. There was no question in Larry’s mind that hard work was part of life, and if you worked harder, things would improve. Every time things were hard, in law school, in his relationships, at work - Larry powered through.

Larry was a successful lawyer, he provided his family with more than they needed. The hard work, _worked_ . His father never said the words _I’m proud of you_ but Larry thought he did well. He provided his family with more than his parents had provided him - and that seemed to be what his father wanted.

His own father hadn’t been the most affectionate, but Larry hadn’t ever doubted his philosophy.

Until now. Until he tried to teach those same lessons in the same way and they didn’t work.

He thought it would just take time to teach Connor, who had always been a sensitive kid. But now his son was angry, so very angry and troubled.

Larry knew where his son got his anger, but he didn’t know where he got the lack of control. Every Murphy man he’d ever known had a strong grip on life and emotion. They were always in control, and he didn’t know how Connor fell out of it so easily.

He sometimes wanted to shake Connor, make him see how he was ruining his own life. But every time he tried to get Connor to understand, his boy would yell and cry, or worse - get high or try to kill himself.

Larry didn’t know what to do with Connor anymore. He hadn’t done much but noncommittally agree with his wife on her decisions for over a year now. He just couldn’t engage, and it was too devastating to try. Every time he failed, he realized how much he hadn’t done, how much he’d failed his eldest.

No matter how much Connor believed that Larry hated him, he didn’t. He couldn’t ever. Maybe Connor hadn’t turned out the way he’d imagined - his boy preferred reading to sports. He used to follow Larry around and asking questions, saying he would be a lawyer one day, too, because you had to read a lot of books to be a lawyer and Connor wanted to read books for his job.

His son’s mind had always worked differently from his own. He never corrected his son, didn’t tell him that being a lawyer wasn’t about reading books, because Larry felt like he was walking on air every time Connor followed him around and said he wanted to be just like him.

Larry wasn’t sure if Connor read much anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time his son said he wanted to be like his dad.

Maybe he should have sat with Connor, read to him, instead of pushing him into sports and trying to play catch when the boy obviously didn’t want to.

Maybe Larry _did_ try to change Connor. Maybe Connor was right when he said Larry wanted someone else’s son, that Connor wasn’t what he’d imagined for himself when the doctor first told them their baby was a boy.

His heart felt heavy in his chest as he turned to look at the corner where there used to be a card table covered with crayons and coloring sheets and it was like he could see his son, four years old, with his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on coloring inside the lines.

He could hear the way little feet pattered into the office when Larry worked late, Connor and Zoe climbing into his lap and saying they couldn’t go to bed without being tucked in by him.

When had Connor stopped going to Larry for protection? For comfort? For company?

He stared at the corner, wishing that things had been different. That he had been a better father, that he tried harder to stay relevant in the lives of his children.

He heard the door from the garage open, and Cynthia’s heels clacked down the hallway until his wife was in the door of his office. She looked so tired lately, so sad. Larry used to pride himself on being able to cheer her up.

He couldn’t seem to reach her these days.

“Larry. We have to talk.” Her voice didn’t waver, and that scared him. His heart stopped. She moved to sit across from him at the desk.

“I need you to try harder with Connor. I can’t do this alone. God, Larry, he’s so sick. He wants to die, and I need you to acknowledge that something is _wrong_.”

“If he tried to listen, if he changed his attitude - Cynthia, dear, he can learn -” He felt the emptiness of his own words. He didn’t believe them, he knew they weren’t true, but there was no alternative.

If his words weren’t true, then his son was broken, his son might suffer with this for the rest of his life and Larry wanted more than anything for Connor to be able to switch it all off. For him to see reason and all of the drugs and ambivalence and suicide attempts would go away.

“No!” She slammed her purse onto the desk, bottom lip trembling in anger, “The listening, the attitude changing, that has to come from _you._ ”

“Cynthia-”

“Don’t Cynthia me! Connor needs you, _I need you_. I feel like I am being torn apart trying to keep this family together.”

He wanted so badly to reach over and wipe the tears from her cheeks. To hold her hand, to tell her he feels it too, feels like their family could fall as easily as a Jenga tower. One wrong move, one thing going wrong - and it could all fall apart. He stopped trying because he didn’t want to be the one to pull the final piece.

“I’m sorry. I just - I don’t know how to be there for him. I - I never thought, can’t even start to understand, mental illness. It sounds like an excuse -”

“It’s not. This is what I’m trying to say, I need you to _step up_ and read about it, change your attitude and try to see things like Connor sees things.”

She reached into her bag, “Look, I bought books that the therapist recommended. I’ve been reading them, and it helps. It helps to know that it isn’t just us, there’s hope, there are things we can do to help him.”

Larry reached over and grabbed one, eyes scanning the cover.

“Please, Larry.” His wife’s voice had gone from hard, to soft and defeated and _sad_. He couldn’t look up without betraying his own emotion, “Please try to understand. I need you, I need you to help because if we don’t try…”

She trailed off and Larry looked up. Cynthia’s face was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking.

“What? If we don’t try? What were you going to say?”

“We could lose him. I can’t lose my baby, Larry, I look at him and I can see _everything._ Every time I look at him it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. And God, I can see his futures, all of them, all the possibilities.”

Larry knew tears were dripping onto his cheeks. He didn’t care because he felt the same way, he had been seeing his son in this very room just before his wife came home.

“Larry, he doesn’t see a future for himself. He _hates_ who he is, and he thinks - god, he really believes that we would be better off without him.”

Larry sighed heavily and stood from his desk chair, book still in hand, and walked over to his wife. He coaxed her out of the chair and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She didn’t lean into his touch. He still felt like he would never understand how Connor couldn’t just ‘snap out of it.’

But he needed to. He wanted to.

“Okay,” He said, voice gravelly with tears, “Why don’t we go read this together? You understand all of this better than me, but I want to try. I don’t want to lose him, either.”

She nodded, and as they turned out the lights, Larry paused, “He used to come into my office and sit at the end of my desk, doing his homework. When he stopped, I didn’t reach out. I - I know I wasn’t there when he needed me.”

“We can do things differently, we can be there now, we can help make things better.”

“Show me how.” Larry pulled his wife to his chest and buried his nose in her hair, which smelled the way it always did, like home and comfort and love, “Show me how.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Larry's thoughts have less swearing and fewer suicidal thoughts. Not 100% free of angst, but a little lighter. 
> 
> The angst isn't over. I will see you all soon. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave comments and kudos! I love to hear from you and what parts you liked/what you think/random headcanons etc.


	10. Return myself to sender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day is going well for Connor. Until he spills his tray in the cafeteria and it sends him spiraling.
> 
> Huge TW for this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious trigger warning for this chapter for suicide and sexual trauma. 
> 
> Please take breaks if you need to. Working on this story has been tough, but cathartic. Let the pain continue (soon there will be SUN!)

Connor carried his notebook into the community room the next morning and sat across from Evan, who was already sitting at the back table working on something. Probably his therapy letters.

Connor didn’t make eye contact and started writing his own note,

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_I’m sorry for being such an ass last night. I had a really hard session with Emily and sometimes talking is too hard. And you know all about my anger issues. Anyway, I’m not trying to make excuses. I hope we can still be friends._

I _really enjoyed Saturday, too. It made me think that maybe things could be looking up for once. Today actually feels like it could be okay. Thanks for your note._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

Connor folded the note into a small triangle and flicked it over to Evan, hitting his friend in the forehead.

Evan sent him a glare, making Connor smile a little and gesture to the note. Evan picked it up and pulled the note apart. Connor watched nervously as Evan opened it, blue eyes scanning over the words.

Instead of walking over to Connor’s side of the table, he started writing in his notebook.

Evan flicked the note across the table. Evan was decidedly horrible at folding and shooting paper footballs, because Connor had to lean all the way forward and draw the note toward him with a marker. Evan was nervously biting his nails.

Connor smirked as he read the note.

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_Of course we’re still friends!! I know you didn’t mean anything last night, but maybe we could like, come up with a signal? So I can know when you don’t want to talk. I don’t want to make you angry._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

Connor ripped another page out of his notebook. It was kind of dumb to keep writing these notes to each other, but it felt like some weird sort of bonding slash forgiveness ritual so he would play the game.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_My vote goes to a finger over the lips, like what librarians do when they shush you. Real librarians do that, right?_

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

_P.s. you suck at paper footballs._

Folding the paper with precision, he flicked it over to Evan and hit him right in the chest. Evan grabbed it quickly and unwrapped it. Deciding he should teach Evan how to pass notes effectively, Connor flattened the note Evan wrote him and stashed it in the back of his composition book with the first one.

He stood and crossed the room, plunking himself down next to Evan.

“This is how you fold a paper football.” Connor didn’t do niceties, “You need to know this for the whole note passing thing we’ve got going on.”

Evan paid attention, and even though he had shaky hands, he was starting to get the hang of it.

One of the techs walked over, “Connor, your mom called. Can you call her back now?”

Connor grumbled, and told Evan he’d be right back. He grabbed the phone and punched in his mom’s number. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hey mom,” Connor turned to sit in the chair placed right outside the door for phone call privacy.

“Hi sweetie, how is your day going?”

“Pretty good. Breakfast was waffles, so that was nice. I don’t like the yogurt parfaits they give us.” Connor bit his lip for a moment, “I talked to Emily about what happened over the weekend. I’m sorry.”

“We know you are. I, well - we aren’t expecting you to get better right away. But you’re improving! We’re proud of you.”

Connor cleared his throat, “Thanks mom. I love you. So, would you be able to grab a couple more books for me soon? I finished the others.”

“Of course!” His mom sounded pleased with his request, “I’m so glad you’re getting back to the things you love. I’ve heard about so many great books coming out.”

They talked for a while, his mom updated him on Zoe and her guitar lessons and the jazz camp she was going to in August. She asked Connor questions about his sessions with Emily, the group therapy, and Evan. He always felt like he was holding back, and he _was_ because there were things he wasn’t ready to tell her.

But that was okay for now. She sounded happy, and they talked until he was being pulled away from the phone for their first group of the day. They said their  ‘I love you’s’ and after a shitty couple of days, he felt a little bit hopeful.

The feeling lasted throughout the day. Connor even spoke to some of the other residents without rolling his eyes.

That night, Connor was focusing on Evan’s re-telling of Jared’s bar mitzvah, which apparently involved a lot of attempts at seduction and Evan being forced into distracting Jared’s moms so that Jared could make out with some girl he invited.

Jared came back with a bloody lip from the girl’s braces and apparently he’d grinned and given Evan two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Kleinman might be a dick, but nobody could say that the kid wasn’t fucking funny most of the time.

Connor was about to express that sentiment aloud when he bumped into one of the other residents, spilling his tray onto him and ending up with his own gigantic stain.

“Oh fuck.” Connor looked up at the guy, Mitch, who was known for his outbursts and intense public bouts of self-harm. Connor really hoped he didn’t set the kid off, “Sorry.”

Mitch was looking down at him with intense brown eyes, and Connor’s chest felt like it was slowly being crushed, fuck he really needed this moment to be over. Really, _really_ badly. He breathed in deeply as a hand came up to grip the spot where Connor’s neck and shoulder met. A large thumb pressed into his throat and Connor was starting to shake, he was getting tunnel vision.

“You better get down there and clean up the mess you made,” And that was definitely a threat, but Connor didn’t respond because the pressure on his throat was gone and Mitch was being rushed out of the dining room by at least three techs.

He didn’t remember moving to the table, not bothering to get more food, because he was going to throw up if he tried to eat anything. His body was trembling and memories were flashing in front of him.

_Flash backs_ , Emily had explained them, and Connor tried to focus on Evan, but he kept remembering being pushed down, told to get on his knees, being pulled up by the throat, being pushed onto the bed by the throat, fingers pressing pills between his slack lips even though he was high enough already but they always wanted him higher and easier to convince.

He was scared. He was so, so scared. He shut his eyes and put his head down on the table, he just needed to focus on the sound of Evan’s voice, and when Evan was nervous he never stopped talking.

And that was fine. Because Connor probably couldn’t talk right now if he tried. He felt so helpless and fucked up. He couldn’t even get through a small spill in the cafeteria without freaking out.

He didn’t understand how he could ever be able to stop the memories, he couldn’t exactly get rid of them, and he couldn't predict when shit like this would happen. The suffering wouldn’t end, he would have to relive this over and over _for the rest of his life_ and he would have to tell his parents what he let happen and they wouldn’t even be able to look at him anymore.

He spent the rest of the night thinking about suicide. More like planning it. His nightmares were depriving him of sleep, he was always remembering the nights he had been _used_ and _hurt_ and sometimes it was so hazy that it was just his body remembering the sensations and he wished he’d died after one of the times he was choked out by some guy that called him pretty and gave him drugs.

That’s how he should’ve died. That’s how he _would_ die, because he’d been thinking about it since Mitch grabbed him in the cafeteria and he didn’t even feel nervous about doing it. His death was an inevitability. He knew the fact that the reason he was alive right now was because God wanted to toy with him, in some sort of fucked up game, taunting him with relief from his pain and then having him fail just so he could feel everything again - but it would be one hundred times worse.

He wouldn’t fail this time. He was done with the pain, done with secrets and shame and disappointing everyone he’d ever known. He was done trying, and not having it ever be good enough. He would never be enough and what was the fucking point of living life if you didn’t care about it and nobody cared about you?

The only hesitation was his mom, but at least she would be free of the stress he caused. The research, the visitations, the different treatment centers and schools and therapists.

He was a burden.

He was a burden to his mom, especially. He wanted her to be happy and she could never be happy while Connor was still alive. She would be even more devastated if she knew about the things he did for drugs. He was so fucking disgusting.

He would kill himself, and they wouldn’t have to know, and eventually his family would forget about him. Disappear from the world and from memory. It’s what he always wanted, what he currently wants. Connor knew that he was already half-gone. Nobody outside of his family even noticed him, and he’s been in and out of treatment centers for so many years that his family is used to not seeing him. Even when he was home, he used to just fuck off for a few days at a time. They never reported it, to Connor’s knowledge. It wasn’t like he had been trying to hide.

The point is, his lack of physical presence wouldn’t affect his family.

It was all planned out in his head. He already had his sweatpants strategically tied to the doorknob in his room. All he had to do was get on his knees (people can use whatever metaphor they want, sex or praying, he doesn’t care because he’ll be fucking dead), slip his head into the makeshift noose and lean forward. Once he’s choked himself enough, gravity will do the rest of the job.

He knows it will hurt. He’s tried to die three times already. It hurt every fucking time.

He wondered if he should write a note. What would he even say? If his family couldn’t catch onto his suffering after three attempts then what was the point of a note? It wouldn’t make them suddenly understand.

He got up, moving to a chair closer to the door. All he had to do was sneak out when nobody was looking. He would have plenty of time before someone noticed he was gone. A voice nagged at the back of his head, telling him to not do it, to reach out.

The people he was supposed to talk to if he was feeling this way were Emily and his mom. He moved over to where one of the techs was sitting.

“Is Emily here? Can I talk to her?”

The tech looked up at him, “Is there a reason you need to see her?”

“Do I have to have one?” Connor snarled, fists clenching at his sides.

“She’s probably gone for the day, but I’ll have someone check her office for you.”

His eyes welled with tears and he stomped off after the tech told him he needed to speak more respectfully. Whatever. They wouldn’t have to worry about his _tone_ after tonight.

Not even two minutes later, he was told that Emily would be for a few days. Vacation. Great. He wasn’t sure if he felt abandoned or if he was relieved because this was a sign from the universe. A sign that he should do it, because when he needed people they wouldn’t be there. That was a pattern and it always will be.

The last thing he would do. Call his mom. Apologize, maybe, tell her he loves her but that it’s better this way. He pulled the corded phone around the door frame and sat in the chair just outside the room for privacy.

The phone rings. And rings. And rings, and rings, and he eventually gets her voicemail. And by the time the robot voice tells him to leave a message after the tone, he’s crying.

Connor hung up the phone after leaving a voicemail. Nobody was looking, so he got up and then he was in his room, kneeling behind the shut door. He didn’t remember walking to his room.

He took a deep breath and slid the sweatpant-noose he made over his head, tightening it until he felt pressure on his throat and it was hard to swallow. He emptied his lungs before leaning forward, and it burned, until his vision began to go black and a euphoria overcame him, and there was a barely-there voice telling him to sit up and breathe, but his limbs weren’t working and that was good, good because it meant he was dying.

The voice was telling him to sit up and breathe again, and Connor had a moment of fear, because the voice might be real, but he couldn’t tell. And it hurt, but it always hurt, and he didn’t care, because him hurting now meant that others wouldn’t hurt in the future.

He fell into a blissful unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop torturing these characters. 
> 
> I swear this story will get less dark. Can't make any promises about when I'll stop projecting onto Connor tho lol. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I love hearing your feedback!


	11. Our hearts may have only skinned their knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia and Larry hear the news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't originally exist. I kind of dabbled in a different format. I hoped maybe it would contribute something extra to the emotionality. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that's sticking around through the angst lol.

_6:16pm - Cynthia_

It had been a pretty good day in Cynthia’s world. She had a pleasant conversation with her son that morning, and she had taken Zoe shopping for the afternoon. It was one of the better days of the past year, and she had been thanking God throughout the day for her fortune. 

She finally felt soft, she could feel the gentle upturn of her lips. She watched her daughter pile their shopping bags into the backseat, her auburn hair glistening in the summer sun. Zoe had Cynthia’s hair. She longed for the brief moments when she could see glimpses of herself in her kids. 

It made them feel more real, like they were really hers. Sometimes she felt like they were too good, too precious for the world. When they were young, she would sit at their bedside until the early hours of the morning. The only thing that could tear her from them was Larry, kissing her softly and promising he wouldn’t let anything happen to them. 

She sometimes wished she could make them small again, keep them safe from the hard times. 

“Mom, can you drop me off at Alana’s?” Zoe asked as she buckled her seat belt, “She’s got a few days before heading off to some girls leadership camp and we wanted to have a sleepover. I have my backpack in the back already!” 

Cynthia pulled out of the parking lot and peeked over at her daughter and smiled, “Of course, sweetie.” 

She couldn’t keep them safe in her arms forever. Her daughters radiant smile made the sun feel even warmer than it already did. 

“Thanks!” Zoe turned on the radio and scanned the channels. 

“Zoe.” Cynthia started, feeling her stomach balloon up into her chest like it was being filled with helium. 

“Yeah?” 

She reached over to put a hand on Zoe’s arm, “I know everything with Connor has been...hard. And I want you to know that I love you and that you are just as much of a priority as he is.” 

Zoe looked down, “I know, mom.” 

“It takes up a lot of our time, and I know sometimes we don’t get to see each other much. Just, please just let me know if things get hard. And we can try to spend more time together! I was thinking we could get manicures soon -”

“That sounds great, mom. I’m fine, really.” Zoe assured her, as they pulled into Alana’s driveway. Her daughter leaned over the console and hugged her. Cynthia pressed a kiss to Zoe’s cheek. 

“Have a good time.” 

“See you tomorrow!” 

_Larry - 6:33pm_

After getting home from work, Larry immediately went upstairs to change into more comfortable clothing. His day had been tiring, and he was looking forward to having a night in with his wife. 

He’d bought a bottle of white wine on the way home, something they could share. He hung his clothing, thinking about connecting with his wife for the first time in many months. After Cynthia spoke with him the other night, things seemed to be improving. Suddenly, it was like she opened up. 

He hadn’t realized how much she seemed to be crumbling under the pressure of their son’s distress. Larry tried to brush away the guilt that ate him up every time he realized how much he didn’t do. 

With a sigh, he grabbed the book he and Cynthia were working through off the bedside table and walked into Connor’s room. It was surprisingly tidy in here, there was a small pile of clothes next to an empty hamper and Connor’s alarm clock didn’t appear to be working. 

He considered changing the batteries but didn’t think Connor ever used the old thing. His son’s phone was his clock and his alarm. Larry sat on the edge of the twin bed and opened the book, reading the first person account of being a teenager with bipolar disorder. 

Larry tried to imagine being Connor, alone in this room, feeling the way this person was trying to describe. He couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t imagine it. He knew it was bad, he knew it wasn’t made up - but the emotions wouldn’t come. Despite Connor having been in and out of treatment, in and out of the hospital for suicide attempts, his son had never _looked_ like he had just tried to kill himself. At least not for long. 

He focused his attention back on the reading, searching it for similarities, searching for things Connor may have said to him that he brushed off. 

Larry resolved to be better. He had to be. It was worth seeing his wife turn toward the light like a sunflower, worth it to see his children bonding and talking instead of fighting. 

He wished he could feel and know his son’s pain better. If he could just understand, if he could remove whatever _thing_ was protecting him from feeling what Connor was feeling- maybe he could be a better father. The father Connor and Zoe need. 

 

_Cynthia - 6:45pm_

Cynthia thought that conversation with Zoe went pretty well. She knew her daughter had come second at times. She also wanted to be there for her, to talk about boys and shop and do the things that Cynthia had enjoyed doing with her own mom. 

She finally felt that she could juggle the three most important people in her life and give her whole heart to all of them. Just a few days after getting Larry back on her side, she felt less empty of patience and empathy. 

Larry. Her husband, the man she loved, was coming back. She was so pleased that they were connecting over Connor’s treatment and his struggles and how it affected both of them. 

Tonight was another second chance for them. She and Larry would have a night to themselves, something that hadn’t happened in so long. 

She smiled softly as she thought about pouring them each a glass of wine. She could drape her legs over his lap and rest her head in the crook of his neck, like they used to do before things started falling apart. 

Her phone buzzed and she glanced away from the road to check the caller ID. It was Connor. She was going to get home, start dinner, and then call him back. Maybe Connor would agree to speak with Larry for a few minutes. 

 

_6:55pm- Larry_

Checking his watch, Larry decided to put the book away and set up the living room for their night in. Two wine glasses, a candle that Cynthia’s sister gifted them for their anniversary, and their extremely backed-up DVR. 

He felt inexplicable butterflies in his stomach, and he shook his head at himself. This was his wife, he had no reason to be nervous.

Larry had just relaxed into the couch, thinking about his wife and the ways the night might end when the landline rang. 

He answered, “Larry Murphy speaking.” 

“Mr. Murphy? This is Carol, one of the nurses at Sunstone. I’m calling in regards to your son Connor.” 

The tone of her voice killed whatever pleasant nervousness he’d been experiencing a minute ago. Larry sat up, “Yes?” 

She paused, the silence was both too long and not long enough, “Connor is being transferred to Children’s. Tonight he was found hanging himself in his room, using his clothing.” 

“Oh my God.” Larry launched himself off the couch, knocking the wine glasses over as he rushed to the door, “Oh my god. We’re on the way.” 

He hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor so he could tie his shoes into messy knots. 

 

_6:56pm - Cynthia_

She walked into the house, immediately greeted with the pleasant scent of wine and her favorite candle. When she turned the corner, she watched her husband drop the landline phone to the ground and shove his foot into his sneaker. 

His face was panicked and something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

“Larry?” She asked, voice soft as to not startle him out of whatever thoughts were racing around his head.

“When did you get home?” He asked, and she took a small step back at the sharp tone of his voice. 

“Just a minute ago, I thought we could eat and then -” 

“We have to go.” He took two of their jackets from the front closet, even though it wasn’t cold inside, “Hurry!” 

Her heart was beating so quickly in her chest, and Larry had grabbed her arm. He was pulling her to the door out to the garage. 

“Larry, what’s going on?” Cynthia pulled her arm from Larry’s grasp and she tried to take deep breaths. 

“Connor’s in the hospital. They said he tried to hang himself -” 

“Oh my god. I missed a call from Connor, I was going to call him back after we ate.” Her heart was somehow everywhere at once pulsing behind her eyes, in her lower back, in her calves. 

She was crying and Larry grabbed the keys from her hands, pushing her into the car and speeding out of the driveway. 

 

_7:01pm - Larry_

He tried to focus on the road rather than his wife’s constant cries. He had to get them to the hospital safely.

“He left a voicemail, Larry. Earlier he sounded - he was having a good day. I was going to call back -”

He didn’t get a chance to ask her not to play it before it was playing through the sound system in the car. 

_“It’s Connor. I just - um - wanted to call. I said I would, if, you know. I felt like this again. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry mom. I love you, but this is how it’s supposed to be. I know I’m not supposed to be here.”_  

Larry blinked his eyes quickly, because with every word the road became blurry. His heart was in his mouth and it tasted like copper wiring. He hadn’t felt this type of desperation every time they ended up rushing to the hospital for Connor. 

The first overdose was a hazy experience, Larry always looked back and thought it was like he’d been watching from someone else’s perspective. Like it hadn’t actually happened to them. It was almost expected, in a way, because Connor had been coming home strung out every other night. 

When Zoe found Connor bleeding out in the bathtub, Larry came from work. He’d been enraged, angry that Connor could do something so dumb, angry that his son would just throw everything away. 

_“I’m glad to know you won’t have to deal with all of this anymore, you can focus on Zoe and dad will be happier without me fucking up all the time. I just - I hope you can forget me. All of you.”_  

The last overdose, when Connor was found in the park, he had been filled with resignation. Larry had been slowly drawing away from his family for months, so when Zoe and Cynthia broke down in the car on the way there, Larry had just felt...felt frustrated. Frustrated that they had to keep doing this.  

_“It’ll be like I was never even here, and that’s what I always wanted. For me, and for you. So yeah.”_

Connor’s words were eviscerating him, and Larry wished that Cynthia would stop playing the goddamn voicemail because this felt like his fault. He’d been the one to pick a fight with their son on Sunday. 

He’d been the one to only feel anger and frustration and a sense of inevitability when Connor tried to kill himself. 

 

_7:05pm - Cynthia_

She hadn’t answered the phone. 

She hadn’t answered the phone, and she promised Connor she would be there. 

What had she done? Why did she decide she could gamble when it came to Connor? 

 

_7:07pm - Larry_

Signing in to see Connor was a blur. He'd been sitting in this sense of deja vu since they entered the parking garage and Cynthia began running into the building as fast as she could. Her desperation never changed, the cool, antiseptic air of the hospital never changed.

He knew he should be feeling more, feeling the same desperation as his wife, but he wasn't. He was the anchor, he was in control. He had to control the chaos. 

If he didn't, he wouldn't know what to do. 

 

_Cynthia -7:10pm_

She wasn’t sure if she or Larry desperately told the nurses that they were here to see their son Connor. The nurse nodded, a grim look on her face. 

She couldn’t wait, she couldn’t keep gambling and waiting to see the outcome. 

“Is he alive?” She tried to come off strong, collected. They were following the nurse showing them to the room. The nurses butterfly scrubs were a horrible juxtaposition to her pain and grief.

 

_Larry - 7:10pm_

“He’s in there. You can see him, take your time.” 

It wasn’t an answer. That wasn’t an answer to his wife's question and his hands were shaking. Connor looked so pale and small in the hospital bed. He watched from the doorway as Cynthia ran into the room and collapsed to her knees, reaching for her son’s hand.  

 

_7:12pm - Cynthia_

She ran into the room and the world stopped. Suddenly she was on her knees next to Connor, and Larry was still in the doorway.

He was breathing, Connor was breathing and she pressed her son's hand to her cheek, trying to feel its warmth, trying to feel the pulse in his wrist against her lips but they were trembling too much. 

What had Connor done? 

What had _she_ done _?_  

 

_7:13pm - Larry_

He had been here before, he felt stuck in time, stuck in the same doorway he’d watched from three times already. 

Everything and nothing was changing and he searched the room for anything that could place him in time. 

As always, there was oxygen and an IV. This time there was no blood transfusion. No Zoe, crying hysterically outside the room. There was no rancid scent of his son’s vomit. 

But there _were_ red and purple bruises covering Connor’s neck. And Larry finally understood, viscerally, that his son wanted to die. His attempts weren’t accidents, they weren’t for attention, they weren’t some strange form of rebelling. 

Connor really wanted to die. 

His son wanted to die. _I just hope you can forget me._

_That’s all I wanted. For me, and for you._

The words repeated in his mind, torturing him, filling him with a grief he never felt before. He wanted to scream and sob, but Cynthia was still kneeling next to the bed, crying into Connor’s limp hand as she held it against her cheek. He bit his cheek and finally moved to kneel next to her. 

He buried his face in her neck and let his cries join hers. Let himself truly cry for Connor, for the very first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!!!! Larry is going through a whole process of change atm. Stay tuned for more chapters coming soon. And also possibly a pride one-shot set in the future for Connor/Evan. 
> 
> I just need to get brave enough to post it lol.


	12. Please don't make gravity play God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurts to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so many people commented on the last chapter, and so this one ended up being long because I just couldn't stop writing more. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

_And it hurt, but it always hurt, and he didn’t care, because him hurting now meant that others wouldn’t hurt in the future._  

Wait. He already had that thought. Hadn’t he? Where was he? 

He felt like he was watching, or maybe dreaming, about what happened. He was looking down on himself from above. His body tried to take a breath, jerking in an uncanny way as it tried to save itself. 

He didn’t watch it happen when he tried to die all the other times. How strange. It was kind of nice to see it happen. 

But the pain, there was pain like he was still in his body. He couldn’t find the euphoria he had mere moments ago and now he was choking, choking, throat dry and torn up. It hurt to breathe. He groaned and it hurt to do that, too.  It hurt to still be alive. His ears hurt and it sounded like he was consumed by a rushing river. It was so loud. His head hurt. 

Fuck. 

His limbs were heavy, they must have him on something, so he moved slowly in order to rip the IV from his arm, where all the fresh cuts from the previous weekend were barely scabbed over. 

He took the cannula out from under his nose and staggered to the bathroom where he leaned heavily against the sink, staring into the mirror. His eyes were red, bloodshot. Purple bruising covered his neck and he fucking hated this. Hated that it never fucking worked. 

His body felt so heavy. He needed to sit, or lie down, or fall asleep and never wake up. 

Connor was in the process of slowly lowering himself to the floor when a nurse and his dad ran in and grabbed him under the arms, helping him back toward the bed. 

He groaned in an attempt to communicate his dissatisfaction with the situation. The room was a bit blurry. He twisted away from the hands touching him, trying to get him to lie down when he didn’t want to lie down, he wanted to die, he wanted to die. Why couldn’t they give up on him? He’d already given up on himself. 

“Connor, Connor, you need to relax.” His dad’s voice broke through the loud ringing in his ears and he could finally hear the noises he was making, a guttural keening noise like he was in pain. And he was. 

He looked up at his dad, who was holding him now, holding his arms tightly. His face was blurry, but he could tell it was sad and breaking and he felt something stab into his thigh and he jerked away, but he couldn’t get out of his dad’s grip. 

“Shh, Connor, it’s okay. It’s just something to help you calm down. It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you.” 

Connor felt a cool sensation sweep through his veins and he looked down to where his dad was holding him and he must have been scratching at his recent cuts because they were bleeding and he didn’t remember doing that. 

“Mr. Murphy, you don’t need to hold him anymore.” Must be a nurse. 

“I-I know. I just.” His dad sounded sad. Why was he sad? Sad that Connor didn’t finally kick it, probably. That’s why Connor was sad, too.

“I know it’s hard, but we need him to lie down so we can restart the IV and oxygen.” 

“Okay, okay.” 

His eyes were feeling heavy again, and he was guided to lie down on the bed. Larry was next to the bed now, Connor looked at him through his fluttering eyelids. His dad’s warm hand was carding through his hair and it felt nice, so Connor tried to lean closer and his dad let out a sob and Connor hated it. Hated that noise. 

He couldn’t fight sleep anymore. 

He couldn’t fight anything, anymore. So he let unconsciousness sweep him up. 

The next time he woke up, there wasn’t as much panic and confusion. There was still pain, and the cannula was making his nose itch. He knew the room would be too bright when he opened his eyes, so he blindly reached up to scratch at the stupid oxygen tube. 

“Oh God, Larry, he’s waking up. He’s waking up.” 

He groaned and turned onto his side, the IV pulling, so he reached over to pull the fucking thing out, but was stopped. He didn’t put up a fight. 

“Connor, no.” His dad’s voice was gentle, like he was talking to a much younger Connor. Larry never talked to him that way. 

“Ugh.” He coughed and tried to sit up. His dad carefully pushed him back down and pressed the button on the bed to lift him up instead. It kinda made him feel disoriented, like the world was moving too fast around him.

“Do you want some water, sweetie?” His mom asked and he nodded, feeling a bit slow and very tired. She lifted the cup and gave him the straw. 

He took a small sip, “Thanks.” 

His voice was raspy and his throat twinged. 

He closed his eyes and let himself melt into the bed, disappointment washing over him at yet another failure. And now here it would come again. Life, except 100 times worse. 

“What happened?” He asked, not even chancing a look at his parents. 

“Evan, your friend? He saw you leave and followed. Once he saw you - well - they got to you right as you passed out. They cut through the pants you used.” 

The room fell silent and Connor knew tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t care. He was so fucking sad. And scared. And lonely, lonely despite his parents being in the room. 

“Was it the fight?” His dad’s voice was gritty and hiding emotion, as usual.

“No.” Connor said shortly, “If I tried to kill myself every time we fought I would have hopefully succeeded by now.” 

There was a collective intake of breath. His joke clearly didn’t land correctly. Too soon, probably. 

“So what was it?” Cynthia was squeezing his hand and he shook his head. He still kept his eyes closed. It was easier than seeing them all in pain. He wished he only hurt them once. Stop drawing this shit out, and just fucking die already. 

“It was - it wasn’t better. I was trying, but there’s so much- so much you don’t know about me and you think you want me here, but you don’t. You won’t, you’ll be just as sad as I am that I haven’t managed to die.” 

“Connor, no. God, no.” His dad’s voice was wavering in a way he’d never heard. Connor opened his eyes so he could look at his dad, who was openly crying. He noticed Connor looking at him and reached over to card through Connor’s hair. 

Connor swallowed the lump in his throat that suddenly appeared. 

“I’m trying to understand. I know this isn’t your fault, and that you can’t just change it like I asked you to.” 

Fuck his tears. He hated crying, especially in front of his dad. But he had always been the boy who cried. 

“Your mother and I have been reading these books. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you more.” 

Connor couldn’t say anything, his teeth were chattering with how violently his jaw was shaking with repressed tears. 

Larry gently wiped Connor’s wet cheeks, “I’ll try harder, I can’t lose you. You’re my son, I can’t lose you.” 

And the dam broke. Loud, ugly sobs ripped out of Connor’s chest and it hurt, hurt more than all the times he tried to kill himself and he fell into his dad, who moved to sit on the side of the bed, gathering Connor up and rocking him. 

He wanted his dad to love him. Wanted him to understand. 

“I - I never meant to disappoint you.” Connor’s sentences were broken because he couldn’t control the shuddering breaths or sobs. 

“You didn’t disappoint me. I should have been there.” 

Connor focused on the way his dad held the back of his head and held Connor tightly against his chest and it made him feel like a little boy, falling asleep on his dad’s lap when he came home from school crying because he had missed his mom and dad _so much_ and school was scary and nobody wanted to be his friend and he wasn’t allowed to go play with Zoe. 

Being held like that again made him feel small. And safe.

“I love you so much, Connor. We all love you so much.” 

“I’m sorry.” Connor hiccuped, “I’m sorry,”

“We’ll get through this.” Larry assured him, and Connor wasn’t actually sure they would get through it, because he just tried to kill himself again, but it felt different now, because his dad was hugging him and saying he wanted to try. 

When Connor pulled away from his dad, he knew that his face was probably indecent and his nose was dripping with snot. His mom wiped it away with a tissue. Connor looked at her, seeing all the lines of her face, the places where her tears had erased her makeup.

Suddenly he’s feeling too much, and nothing at all and he shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows. 

A cool hand began to stroke his, “I’m so sorry I didn’t answer your call, baby. I said I would be there.” 

Connor swallowed, “It’s okay. I was - I would have done it anyway.” 

The room went silent until a nurse came in with a tray filled with breakfast items. Connor didn’t feel like eating at all. 

“It’s good to see you awake, Connor! Are you comfortable?” She approached his bedside and began checking his vitals, “You panicked when you first woke up, are you still feeling any anxiety?” 

Too many questions. Of course he was feeling anxious. He didn’t know what was going to happen after this, he didn’t know how much longer his mom would be able to hold herself together, he didn’t know if he could hold _himself_ together. 

“Um, no.” He replied. He didn’t know how to communicate everything going through his head. 

“Great! I’ll leave you to eat breakfast with your parents.” 

She put up the tray for the bed before leaving, and his parents were assembling breakfast for him. He felt bad that he wasn’t going to eat any of it. 

“What’s going to happen now?” Connor fiddled with the bracelet on his wrist, trying to avoid the new bandages on his arm. He vaguely remembered re-opening the cuts from the weekend. 

“Well, you’ll probably be here for a while. And then you’ll go back to Sunstone.” His mom’s voice was strangely calm, like this was a normal thing to talk about, and it sort of was for their family, because Connor somehow managed to always put them back in this position. 

“I’m really sorry.” He was a broken record, at this point. 

“Don’t apologize sweetie, why don’t we focus on breakfast for now? One step at a time.” 

Connor shook his head and he knew his face was scrunching up and crumbling, “It’s like I can’t  - can’t stop myself. It’s like one thing goes wrong and s-suddenly I can’t think of anything else. I’m _sorry_.” 

“It’s going to get better. It has to get better - we’ll keep reading and going to therapy and adjusting your meds, and we’ve all been praying for your health…” 

His mom had always been like this with his treatment. Try everything, try it all and try it over and over again. He could tell she was tired, going through the motions, trying anything that could still give her a sliver of hope. 

His dad was opening the cup of yogurt and handed it to him. Connor grabbed it but just looking at it was making him nauseous. 

“I’m not hungry.” He whispered, but he didn’t pass the yogurt back to his dad or set it on the tray. 

“You need to eat.” Larry said, “Even if you aren’t hungry.” 

He knew that was true and he knew his dad wouldn’t give up because Larry was notoriously stubborn and that’s why Connor thought they fought so much. Because they were both stubborn as fuck. Connor didn’t have the energy to be stubborn today. So he sighed and picked up the spoon, taking tiny bites of the yogurt. His dad looked satisfied and his mom was texting on her phone. 

“Zoe’s going to be here, soon. Alana’s parents are going to drop her off.” 

Connor pushed away his half eaten cup of yogurt. His stomach churned with shame, he was so ashamed of what he did, what he kept doing. He didn’t want to see his sister. She deserved a better brother, one that could be there for her and protect her and make her proud. 

His dad tried to get him to eat more, but Connor focused on counting down from one-hundred until he fell asleep. 

When he woke up, the food was no longer in front of him and quiet voices were talking. He could hear them whispering so he yawned and sat up a little. 

“Hey,” He greeted. Zoe was standing in the doorway to his room, arms crossed.

“I guess the third time wasn’t the charm.” Her eyes were red and he could see how betrayed she felt. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it was the fourth time. 

“Zoe!” Cynthia shrieked, “You can’t say things like that.” 

Connor laughed, he didn’t know why, because his sister was a dick and he should be mad but he _wasn’t_. 

He turned to his mom, “Zoe sucks at being mean.” 

“You got all of that talent, I’m afraid.” Her voice was wobbling with tears and he cleared his throat.

Zoe walked over with a box of tissues, “Scoot. There’s nowhere comfortable to sit in here and you’re hogging the bed.” 

Connor let out a small chuckle and let Zoe climb in next to him. He blew his nose as she flipped through channels, trying to find something to watch. They were in the pediatric ward, so there weren’t many options. 

Zoe settled on Scooby-Doo. She reached over and took his hand, “Don’t you dare try that again.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” She said resolutely, and he was relieved that she knew it, “I know that your brain is fucked six ways to Sunday but - we just started getting along again. I don’t want to have to miss you anymore.” 

And now Zoe was crying and he should have thought about her before he tried to off himself again but he hadn’t, because he was selfish. He should have known she would be upset, because she had asked him to pray with her and did his nails and cried when he said _over my dead body_. 

And how many times had he almost made Zoe literally stand over his dead body? So many times. 

Connor didn’t know what to say, so he just squeezed her hand. She rested her head on his shoulder and he closed his eyes, tears building up as he remembered pushing Zoe’s diapered butt up onto the couch so they could watch cartoons in the morning before breakfast and she would ask Connor for her favorite shows and clamber into his lap even though Connor wasn’t that much bigger than her. 

And Connor always got annoyed because he let Zoe pick the show and then she _always_ fell asleep. And even though it wasn’t fair that they always watched Zoe’s show first, he liked that Zoe wanted to be his best friend. 

Connor really hoped they could maybe be friends again. He just needed to stop fucking up. 

They spent the day together, watching TV and playing card games and bananagrams and it reminded him of the times they would stay up late on Fridays and play games as a family. And when he was younger, his dad would sit next to him and help him spell words in bananagrams and they would let Zoe use made-up words because she was little and she didn’t know that many words yet. 

He was finally able to eat something around dinner. After that, the nurse came in to check his vitals and whispered that there were only fifteen minutes of visiting left. Zoe got up from the bed and Connor sat up, pulling her back. He crossed his legs.

“Wait.” He paused and Zoe’s hair was a little messed up where she’d been leaning on him, “Do you want to, um, pray with me? Before you go?”

He didn’t know why he asked. It’s not like going to church that one time changed much about what he thought of their religion. He was still pretty ambivalent about the whole God thing, but Zoe went every week and wore her cross necklace. 

And Zoe climbed back on the bed, sitting in front of Connor, taking both his hands with a soft smile, and he knew he made the right choice. He watched her bow her head first, and he blinked tears out of his eyes before screwing them shut, dropping his own head and squeezing her hands tightly. 

She squeezed back. 

After a few minutes, Connor’s mom tapped his shoulder and he let go of Zoe’s hands, bringing her into a hug before she climbed off his bed. 

Cynthia kissed him on the forehead and hugged him tightly, his arms falling easily around her waist as she gripped him to her chest and he felt so taken care of, even if he could feel her exhaustion, and Connor felt like maybe he was getting the message this time around. 

One last kiss to the top of his head, and Larry came up to him. Tension built in the air for a moment but dissipated quickly once his dad sat on the edge of the bed, pulled Connor in, squeezing too tightly, and Connor felt his dad’s cheek on the top of his head. 

Connor tried to breathe deeply as he watched his family leave, and he scratched at the cannula again, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting his tears fall. 

He couldn’t do this again. He was so tired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!!!! Let me know what you think in the comments! I love getting to chat with all of you!


	13. It would've killed me to watch him die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor comes back to Sunstone and Evan is relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Evan POV to get in his head a little bit more. Back to Connor POV soon, I swear. We've been taking quite a few detours lolol. Thanks to everyone leaving comments and kudos! I really appreciate it!!

Connor was back, which was good. Very good. Evan had been freaking out for the past week, because the paramedics had rushed Connor out of the building on a stretcher, securing an oxygen mask onto his face. After he was gone, there was no more information about him. Did Connor die? How long did it take someone to die from being strangled? 

It had taken two hours for him to get his panic attack under control. 

Evan picked at his cast for a moment. He should go see Connor, ask if he’s okay. What if Connor was mad that Evan stopped him? 

No, that was dumb. 

But it might not be, because Evan was mad that one of the park rangers called EMS fast enough that his collapsed lung didn’t kill him. So maybe Connor would be mad. 

Evan sat down next to Connor at dinner anyway, who was glaring at a piece of paper like he wanted it to suddenly catch fire. It had a lot of scribbled out sentences that Evan couldn’t read. The top said _Dear Evan Hansen,_ which made Evan nervous. 

The green-yellow bruising around Connor’s neck also made him nervous. 

Connor’s eyes flickered up to him as he sat down. He seemed less angry now that he was looking at Evan and not the letter he’d been trying to write. 

“H-hey.” Stupid stutter. Evan wrinkled his nose and tried to find something else to say. Why was he always short for words? Well, not in his head. It’s like they got stuck in his throat and he couldn’t get them out when he wanted to. 

“Are you supposed to be picking at your cast?” 

Evan looked down at his cast with a frown. It looked like it had been attacked by a small animal. Evan thought he was kind of like a small animal in some ways, skittish and overall sort of a nuisance. Pieces were scratched off and gouged out. 

Evan pulled his dull, chewed up nails away from the plaster, “Um, probably not. My mom keeps telling me to stop, but I don’t really think about it.” 

There was a beat of silence and Connor bit his lip, “Sorry about last week. I probably traumatized you.”

Evan looked down, “Not traumatized. Just worried. And I might have had a panic attack? I mean, I definitely had a panic attack. So maybe I was a little traumatized? But I always have panic attacks, so, uh, are you okay?” 

Connor shrugged, “Better, relatively. I think they’ve finally got me on better meds? It’s hard to tell sometimes, if they’re working or not. But I think they are.”

“Good. That’s good. My anxiety - they put me on another medication? And that’s been helping? Like I don’t constantly feel like I’m going to throw up anymore. Ohmygod that was gross, so gross, I’m sorry.” 

He was starting to sweat now. Connor was going to see him sweat like he just ran a mile.   

One time, Jared asked Evan why he was sweaty and Evan said that he had gone for a run. Sometimes he lied about dumb things and he didn’t know why. 

But this time, Connor would know that Evan didn’t just run a mile so he was going to think he was a gross person. Oh God.

Connor shrugged, “Not that gross. I kinda get it. I threw up outside on the patio when I had a panic attack during my first couple weeks here.”

Evan watched as Connor twirled and untwirled rice noodles around his fork. Something in Evan settled down a bit. He didn’t know how he forgot that Connor was safe to be around. Connor was nice. He didn’t need to be as nervous around Connor. 

He was disappointed when visitors were brought in and Zoe Murphy came into the room, towing Alana Beck behind her. Evan didn’t have siblings or friends to come visit, really. Which was fine. He was used to not having people around. 

“Hi Connor!” Alana waved from across the room and then gasped, which made Evan turn red because that meant she saw him, “Evan?” 

Evan gulped and nodded, “Yeah, uh. Hi Alana.” 

“I didn’t know you were here! You should visit with us!” She invited, and Evan was surprised she wasn’t more pushy about why he was here. But maybe it was kinda obvious. 

He didn’t know why he thought she would be nosy. Alana had always been a nice person. Sometimes she could be a little overbearing, or talk over you, but that was easy to do with Evan. He tended to make himself smaller and say as little as possible. 

So Alana was maybe not entirely those things. It was just easier to see those qualities in her when she’s next to Evan. 

Evan must have zoned out in his nervous thought process, because Connor was pulling him by the arm toward a larger table where Zoe was sitting. 

Evan watched with interest as Connor and Zoe hugged. He remembered Connor and Zoe mostly fighting at school in the last few years, and this was different. Zoe had her cheek pressed against Connor’s shoulder and she appeared to be wrapping her arms around him as tightly as possible. 

“Thanks for coming, Zo.” Connor said quietly, and Evan averted his eyes. He didn’t want to intrude on their moment. Instead, he managed to make eye contact with Alana. 

Great. 

“So, what do you two do in here?” Alana asked, just as Connor and Zoe sat down. 

Evan cleared his throat three times, “Well, we go to groups and l-learn about, uh, skills and you know, you know, you know-”

“Basically it’s a fuckton of therapy.” Connor nudged Evan’s knee with his own. It was light. And friendly. 

And Evan glanced over to Connor, who was glancing over at him during the exact same moment. _Breathe._ Oh god Connor was going to think he’s super weird. And Alana Beck probably thinks he’s stupid because he couldn’t even finish his sentence without doing the dumb thing where he repeats himself over and over again. 

Damn. 

Another nudge to his knee. Evan blinked and he was back at the table. 

“I was just telling them how all we watch upstairs is The Office on repeat. I swear we’ve seen the show all the way through more than once.” 

“Y-yeah.” Evan laughed nervously, “I th-think we should watch H-harry Potter instead.”

Alana’s eyes seemed to light up, “I love Harry Potter! You should join the Harry Potter club at school this year. We re-read the books, like read them aloud to each other! And also we do trivia and watch the movies if we don’t feel like reading.” 

Evan thought the idea of himself reading aloud to others was horrible. Having to read a paragraph in class was one of the worst parts of school. In fact, it was right up there with icebreakers, presentations, going through the lunch line, and being touched constantly in the overcrowded halls.

“M-maybe. I don’t really like to, um, read to other people?” 

Alana’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth wide, like she was about to say something. Evan hated trying to interpret people’s faces. Was she astounded that Evan didn’t like to read? Was she surprised? Or horrified? 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think…” She trailed off for a moment, “You don’t have to read, if you don’t want. You could just come to listen.” 

Evan looked down. He could feel himself turning red. 

“Th-thanks. I’d, well, that sounds, um, nice?” 

“Connor, do you like Harry Potter? Maybe you could come, too!” 

Evan looked over to Connor, to see his reaction. Connor had a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I used to be really into it.” 

“Try _obsessed._ ” Zoe interjected, a grin spreading across her face like she was about to share something life-changing, “He went to all of the midnight releases. He went as Harry for Halloween like, six years in a row.” 

Evan felt himself warming up with Connor, whose cheeks were turning pink. He had also been Harry Potter for Halloween for years and years. Mostly because he loved the books. Partially because his mom couldn’t afford a new costume every year.

“Zoe, stop.” 

“One time, for three days, he would only respond with quotes. It drove our parents mad.” 

“Please.” 

Zoe leaned forward, “And he used to write fanfiction.” 

Connor seemed to give up and slumped down in his chair, falling almost all the way down. Zoe was giggling and rambling about how she thought she could possibly find Connor’s old account. 

Alana was definitely not seeing the humor in the situation that Zoe wanted her to see, “I’d be delighted to read your writing! I didn’t know you were a writer, Connor.”

Zoe looked up from her phone, where she was undoubtedly searching for her brother’s account, “It’s _fanfiction_ , Alana.” 

Alana seemed to puff up, “Well, it’s still writing isn’t it? I went to a creative writing workshop last spring, and I learned that everything is a retelling of _something_. So really, it -”

“I u-used to read fanfiction.” Evan blurted, wincing as he revealed that horrifying piece of information. But Connor lifted his chin from his chest and looked at Evan with that tiny half smile that he sometimes wore. 

“Who did you ship?” Connor asked quietly, “Harry and Ginny? Ron and Hermione?” 

Evan felt his face turning red and his cheeks were burning because nobody knew, not even his mom knew, but he was going to say it because the words were already in his mouth. 

“Sirius and Remus Lupin?” He didn’t know why it came out like a question. He watched as Connor’s eyes widened for a moment before he smiled that smile they gave each other when they knew something other people didn’t know. And usually it was about something dumb one of the other kids did or said that the staff didn’t know about. 

But now it seemed to be about something different. And Evan didn’t really know what it was? He didn’t know what the smile was about.

And now Alana was talking about J.K. Rowling and queerbaiting and Evan nodded along, not entirely keeping up with her point. Evan, as usual, fell into the background of the conversation quickly and that didn’t especially bother him because it was the end of the night and he was tired. 

Visiting ended halfway through a game of Uno. Alana and Zoe both hugged him before leaving, which was very strange but also nice. As they trekked up the steps, Connor bumped into him, “So, Sirius and Lupin?” 

Evan smiled and looked down, “You can’t blame me. Young Sirius Black would have been h-hot.” 

“So you’re the Lupin in this situation? Are you into bad boys, Hansen?” 

Was this friendly banter? Evan had no idea, but he was smiling despite his flushing cheeks and itchy neck. He chuckled, “O-of course I’m Lupin. I c-couldn’t pull off being a rebel.” 

Connor was laughing, and he had a very nice smile. Evan liked when Connor smiled. Especially when it was because of something Evan said. When they got upstairs, Connor grabbed his art journal and some magazines. 

Evan would join him after he called his mom. He wanted to add a Harry Potter page to his own journal. But first he needed to tell his mom about his visit with Alana and Zoe. She would like to know that he’s making friends. He didn't feel invisible today, when he was visiting with the others he felt hope for himself. Hope that someday he wouldn't spend all his time on the outside, looking in on others. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the one after have been a little difficult to write, but I powered through the writer's block! It feels easier to move forward now. Yay!
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter, or just let me know how you're doing! I'm trying to figure out how to do the whole internet community and friends thing. I appreciate all of you!!!


	14. Searching for a safe place to land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and his parents figure out how to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have work in 5 minutes but I really wanted to post this chapter today!!! I hope you enjoy it - I've had this one written for a while. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!! I'll get to responding to your comments soon :)

After spending a week in the pediatric psych ward in the hospital, he was back at Sunstone. Things were mostly the same, except now Connor was followed pretty much everywhere and they checked on him constantly until he fell asleep. 

Connor thought the meds might be starting to work, which was good. They added some new ones at the hospital, and he didn’t really fight anything regarding medications anymore. His active suicidal thoughts were decreasing, so he wasn’t searching for ways to kill himself anymore. He still had a lot of passive thoughts, but he was getting better at calling his mom or talking to a staff member before it got worse. 

The deep exhaustion in his bones was fading, too, and he didn’t feel like sleeping all the time anymore. Sometimes he _wanted_ to, because sleeping was easier than dealing with his emotions. 

But before it was like he _needed_ to sleep, and no matter how much he slept, the exhaustion never went away. This was definitely an improvement, even if he wasn't well rested by any means. His nightmares were getting worse, which was probably a side effect of exploring some of his shitty memories with Emily. He saw the psychiatrist yesterday, though, and she said there is a medication that could help. 

He really wanted to stop re-living shit. It was the only thing making him seriously contemplate ways to kill himself these days. Sometimes he could still feel the way he tried to breathe in and couldn’t, still felt an indifference toward life so deep he thought it would never go away. 

He told Emily about this when they talked about his recent suicide attempt, about how thinking about his trauma was making everything harder. How he hadn’t been planning to kill himself that night until he was having flashbacks at the dinner table.

He was just staring at the book open on his legs as he thought. He knew that someone would come grab him in the next five minutes to join his mom and dad in case management, so he didn’t want to get too upset. He needed to think of something else.

Evan was always nice to think about, his friend with a cute smile and endearing nervous laugh. Evan was also really funny. And caring. And he understood, he really understood Connor more than anyone had ever understood him. 

Soon enough, he was pulled from the community space and led to the office where Emily and his parents were. 

He and Emily made a plan for case management today. Emily would talk to them about some extra therapy groups to help him with his trauma and substance use and he thought it was a good idea. He could use the extra support. But he didn’t want to talk about it with his parents yet, so they had practiced ways he could communicate that.  

They were all getting a little better at communicating with each other, and his dad, mom, and Zoe (or any combination thereof) had come to visit him almost every day since he was back at Sunstone. Alana Beck even came once, and Evan had joined them. He felt normal for a solid hour that night. 

It especially made him feel better to have his parents come to visiting so often, and even though Connor and his dad didn’t really talk much during those times, he was happy his dad was there. 

His dad hadn’t been there in so long. 

Connor talked a lot about Larry with his therapist. She said he was trying, and that she wanted them to start connecting with each other in a more structured space. She and Connor talked about how he pushed his family away, and how Larry shied away from things he didn’t understand, things he wasn’t the expert on. 

He was brimming with anxiety by the time he arrived at the office where his parents were. When he was allowed into the room, he sat down in the only seat in the room, a chair that triangulated between Emily’s desk and the couch where his parents sat.

He wondered what would happen, would his dad fight everything about his treatment? Would he start an argument about how it’s all a waste of time and money on a kid who is a waste of space? 

Those were distorted thoughts. He could recognize them now, but they still felt fucking true. He pulled the rubber band on his wrist and snapped it. His dad said he loved him. Snap. His dad said they would get through it. Snap. That meant maybe he would agree to the extra therapy. Snap. 

“So, I thought we could start with some updates?” 

Connor glanced up for a moment and switched to picking at his fingernail polish because his mom was watching him snap the rubber band against his wrist and he suddenly felt embarrassed. His parents must have nodded in response to Emily’s question. He scraped the last bit of nail polish off his thumb. He wished they didn’t have to consent to everything he did in treatment. He felt shame churn in his stomach. 

Emily shuffled some papers and began, “So, the psych provider passed on some consent forms for you to sign on a new medication for Connor. It’s just something for his nightmares, so hopefully he’ll be able to sleep with fewer interruptions.” 

“And sleep is important for managing bipolar disorder? Right?” 

Connor’s head snapped up at the sound of his dad’s voice. He’d never seen Larry look nervous before, but his hands were fidgeting and tangling together. He wasn’t arguing and Connor felt like maybe he had fallen into a different universe altogether.

Emily smiled, “Yes, Mr. Murphy. Sleep is important for all disorders, but the effect of sleep dysregulation can be amplified for some people with bipolar disorder. Lack of sleep can be a trigger for manic or depressive episodes.” 

“I didn’t know you were having nightmares, sweetie.” Cynthia reached over the arm of the couch to touch his hand. 

Connor tried to swallow but his mouth was dry, “Yeah, uh, they’ve gotten worse. Because I’ve, um, been talking about things more. With Emily.” 

“We’ll sign it.” Larry said quickly, pulling a pen from his breast pocket and signing the highlighted lines. He didn’t ask any more questions about the medication. Larry was usually more nosy, and that put Connor on edge. He didn’t understand these changes. 

“I also want to have Connor attend a couple extra groups that are more specialized. The current cohort is finishing up in a couple weeks, so he could start with a new cohort around the end of July.” 

Connor kept focusing on picking at his nails. He wanted his parents to agree, didn’t want them to start asking questions. So far it had actually been okay, even if it was super weird and off-putting and he felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Adolescent Trauma and Recovery?” His mom read off the pamphlet Emily had given her, “Is there- is there a reason you think this would help him?” 

Emily nodded slowly and Connor pulled his knees up, hiding his face. 

“Connor and I have spoken about some difficult experiences while in session, and I think this would help him work through those memories. Along with the medication for nightmares, I think we could really decrease the distress he’s currently experiencing.” 

“What happened? Connor, sweetie, you can tell us anything.” His mom sounded broken, desperate for answers. Like maybe this was the breakthrough that would fix him. 

The silence in the room indicated that he needed to say something, something he’d practiced with Emily. He was always bad at putting his needs into words without getting angry, “I’m not ready to talk about it, yet. I’m sorry.”

He heard his mom stifle a sob and he winced. He fucking screwed this up all the time. His mom was going to give up on him, he knew it, because there were only so many times she could have her heart broken by him. Right? 

“It’s alright, Connor.” Connor looked up at Larry, who looked sad and hesitant, “We understand. I know I haven’t been...well, the point is that we don’t want to make you feel pressured. We’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

Connor felt inexplicably angry and sad, because his dad hadn’t _been there_ and why couldn’t he have tried before?

“Why do you suddenly care?” 

His dad’s voice was soft and pained, “Because you’re my _son_ . I have loved you since we found out your mother was pregnant. I didn’t - I was in denial. The other week made me realize we could lose you, _really_ lose you.”

Connor picked at his sweatshirt, suddenly feeling hot and short of breath. He took his sweater off and wrapped his arms around himself, not wanting his parents to see the scars on his arms from the day he and Larry fought, even though they’d already seen them in the hospital. They didn’t need to be covered anymore, but they were scabby and red and ugly. 

If they saw that, then they could see the ugliness that Connor was trying to keep hidden inside. 

“I didn’t know how to connect with you. I kept trying to connect in ways I understood. ” His dad sounded resigned, defeated. 

Connor didn’t say anything. He hugged himself more tightly. Emily interrupted before anything else was said, not that Connor had anything to say to his dad. 

“I think this is a great transition into talking about pass this weekend. I want to make sure Connor is supported, especially after his attempt a couple weeks ago, so we’re going to try a shorter pass where he is supervised at all times.” 

Connor nodded and his parents expressed that they thought it would be a great idea, that they wanted to be able to bring Connor home.

“I think it would be a good idea to plan out an activity, especially something that Connor and Mr. Murphy can do together. Connor?” 

He looked up, feeling like he was put on the spot. His mom’s eyes were filled with hope and Connor wracked his brain. He really hadn’t done much besides sleep and smoke and spend time in the hospital for a couple years now. 

“Um, are there like, baseball games? We used to go in the summer.” 

Everyone was quiet for a moment and Larry gave him a careful look, like he was trying to read Connor like a book, “Yes, but you hated baseball. I want you to pick something you enjoy.”

Connor’s cheeks heated up, “I didn’t hate the _games,_ I just hated that you always wanted me to _play_. I um, I liked the games because mom let us get food there and I didn’t understand the game, but it was still fun. So. Maybe, we could go and see if I still like it?”

Larry nodded quickly, “Yeah, okay. I’ve got season tickets. We could go this weekend, there’s a game Saturday afternoon.” 

Connor chewed on his lip and hoped he didn’t hate going. He thought it would probably go okay. At the very least he would get to appreciate the way baseball pants accentuated the players’ _assets_. He didn’t need to explain that to his parents, though. 

“Alright! That’s a great plan for Saturday, what about Sunday?”

Connor checked out his nails, “Maybe we could hang out at home? Zoe and I did our nails last time, and I know you hate my nail polish but -” 

“Maybe we could get manicures!” Cynthia suggested a little too loudly, “Zoe and I have been planning to go, but you could come with.” 

Connor looked at his dad, who seemed a little uncomfortable, but he was nodding. 

“Okay,” Connor drew out the word, because this was a little strange, “Why are you two suddenly in favor of my nails? You always hated them.” 

His dad sighed and he watched as his mom laid a hand on his dad’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen them act so much like a team in a really long time. 

“Sweetie, we just want you to feel in control.  You can wear what you want and if you want your nails done-”

Larry took over the sentence after his mom paused like she forgot the other half of her sentence, “- we won’t stop you. I read about self-expression in one of the books -” 

Connor cut his dad off, "Okay. Cool. Thanks."

He didn’t need a play by play of whatever weird parenting self-help books they were reading.

Their session ended, and Connor felt lighter than he had in a while. He was actually looking forward to the weekend, and he hadn’t looked forward to something in a long time. 

Things weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, and he had two very recent suicide attempts, but his family was healing. 

  
He just needed to _not_ fuck it up this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love hearing your feedback. Buckle up, things speed up a bit from here.... :D


	15. You are the place I'm finally going to sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan and Connor write to each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't originally exist, but I wrote one letter from Evan to Connor and the rest just happened. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Connor came back from the baseball game feeling good. His dad bought him a baseball cap, which he actually liked, and Zoe suggested he put his hair in a ponytail and pull it through the back. She took a picture of it. Connor never wanted it to see the light of day. There was a reason that look was saved for young children and soccer moms. 

He looked around for Evan, who was sitting in the corner of the couches in the back and making himself as small as possible. Connor pulled out the baseball stress toy he got for Evan and walked over, sitting next to him. 

Evan turned to him, and pressed a finger to his lips. It was their signal that they couldn’t (or didn’t want to) talk. 

Connor examined Evan’s face with a frown, his friend’s eyes and nose were red. He was obviously crying and it was breaking his heart to see Evan so upset and he wanted to know why. Because Evan had actually been doing pretty well lately, they’d talked about it a lot together - about how they’re getting closer to their moms and the meds are working better. 

But Evan didn’t want to talk. 

“I got you something.” Connor said, and held out the toy. Evan took it and brought it to his chest, squeezing it a few times, “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just going to hang out next to you.” 

Evan nodded and went back to staring and sniffling occasionally when his tears returned. Connor grabbed his notebook and decided to write. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_You gave me the signal that you don’t want to talk, so I’m writing to you instead. Today my dad took me to a baseball game because we used to do that as a family. It was a little boring, but honestly once I focused in on my $7 lemonade and the aesthetic of baseball pants it was okay. I know the baseball stress thing I got for you has a super weird and borderline creepy face, but it made me think of you (in a good way)._

_Anyway, here’s an accurate depiction of the best baseball butt I saw today:_

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

_p.s. I hope tomorrow is a better day for you._

 

The next morning, Connor received a surprisingly well-aimed paper football in response. Connor couldn’t help but grin over at Evan, who was smiling back as his therapist walked in to grab him for a session. 

Once Evan was out of sight, Connor opened the letter. 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_Thank you for the stress ball, I love it until I make eye contact with it._

_I can’t believe you let your dad buy you a $7 lemonade. I would faint if I tried to ask my mom for that. I’m glad you enjoyed the butts, though. Also this is probably a weird question but are you gay? You don’t have to answer that. I feel like we’ve almost talked about it a couple times and circling around things makes me anxious (assertive communication, my therapist would be so proud)._

_Sorry for ‘shushing’ you yesterday. I didn’t feel up to talking. My mom and I went home and she made me call my dad for his birthday. He didn’t even ask how I was doing, but he never really does. He also told me he won’t be able to come to graduation, which isn’t surprising to me but it made my mom cry. I don’t think I would have wanted him there anyway._

_I don’t know, it was kind of a shitty day._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

He carefully flattened the letter and opened his journal so he could place it in the back with all of the other Dear Connor Murphy letters Evan had written him. He wasn’t sure why he kept them, and he didn’t know if Evan kept his, so he put them safely in the back of his journal so nobody could judge him or decide that he’s weird. 

He is a little bit weird when it comes to Evan. Who asked if Connor is gay, which he personally thought was pretty clear. He was kind of excited (in a totally normal way) that Evan asked, because it opened the window for Connor to ask about Evan, who he suspected might be bi.

He started writing back immediately. 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Bad days are the reason we use our shushing signal, so you don’t have to apologize to me :3 To answer your question, I’m gay. Very gay. Like born with a rainbow flag attached to my shoulders, gay. I’m not offended that you asked. Aren’t you bi? A while back you said something about Sirius Black being hot, which made me think you are at least 20% gay._

_Have you told your mom that you’re bi? I haven’t explicitly told my parents, but they did once walk in on me kissing a boy in my room. It was mortifying. He was my first boyfriend during our sophomore year when I was at a different school._

_Anyway, my parents probably know I’m not straight._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

During their group therapy that afternoon, Connor shot his paper football-letter over to Evan, who smiled and opened it slowly and quietly so Alice wouldn’t be distracted from teaching them about whatever skill they were supposed to be learning. 

Connor was so focused on trying to gauge Evan’s reactions to his letter that he couldn’t focus. Evan began writing back immediately, and soon a paper football landed on the floor right in front of him. He quickly leaned over to pick it up. 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_Yes I’m bi...I haven’t told my mom anything though. I’m already defective enough. I don’t want to add being bi to that list. My therapist Alice wants me to work on not calling myself defective - but I still think it’s a little bit true._

_My mom said Jared is coming to visit soon because he’s home from camp. I have a whole thing planned out to say to him. I know you don’t really like him, but he used to be a really good friend. Before my anxiety got way worse and he wanted people to think he’s cool. I think you two might actually get along if you could get through the first few super awkward meetings._

_I can’t believe school is starting in a week. I’ll be doing my classes from here. My mom talked to my teachers and made a plan. It’s going to be weird going back (especially in the middle of the semester), but I’m glad we’ll have each other. You’re coming back, right? My mom wouldn’t agree to me finishing online. It was a long shot, but definitely worth a try…._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

Evan was right about how Connor felt about Jared. But Evan had known him longer, so Connor wouldn’t be mad about having to hang out with Jared sometimes. Also confirmation that Evan was bi made Connor unnecessarily happy. He’d been having indecent thoughts about Evan and his dumb khaki’s lately, and he really needed to stop it. Evan was his friend, his only friend. 

He couldn’t fuck it up. He could keep it friendly. 

 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_If you wouldn’t call me defective, then you shouldn’t say it to yourself either. If you're defective for being bi, then I'm doubly defective for being gay (BAM, used double-standard, my therapist would be so proud, too). Anyway, we can be secret gay-gents. That pun works better aloud, but I want to torture you with them in every way possible lol._

_I will try to get along with Kleinman for you, but only for you, Hansen. If it were anyone else, I’d make them pay me for the emotional damage. (That was a joke, please don’t try to pay me)._

_I wasn’t allowed to finish school online either. Something about not wanting me to be isolated. Apparently they want me to suddenly find friends in a school full of people that think I’m a violent, psychopathic freak. Hopefully the student body won’t react too much when I go back, I don’t know how many more rumors I can take before I just drop the fuck out._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

Connor lined up the paper football and shot it across the room at Evan, at the exact moment that Alice decided to turn around. Connor crossed his arms and tried to look innocent. 

Alice gave him and Evan a warning look, which was very intense, and Connor didn’t receive another letter until they were at dinner. 

 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_My therapist just pulled me aside and scolded me for shooting paper footballs during group. I can’t believe I’ve become such a rebel. I used to go into a panic at the mere thought of passing notes. I should tell Alice that it’s progress and therefore she shouldn’t be mad at me._

_I don’t think you’re violent, a psychopath, or a freak. People are so mean, and they label you because they don’t care about knowing the real you. I usually only get made fun of if I stutter through an entire presentation or do something weird. Otherwise I don’t think anyone would notice at all if I disappeared._

_Y_ _ou wouldn’t mind being seen with me at school, right? I don’t think hanging out with the weird kid is good for expanding your friend group._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

Connor wrote his next letter before bed that night, so he didn’t deliver it to Evan until the next day. He refrained from shooting it across the room during their morning group because Emily had also talked to him about not being a distraction to others. Instead, he decided to add a drawing during group that he thought Evan might enjoy so he wouldn’t be totally bored. 

 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_If u wanna hang with me you gotta get used to breaking the rulez. Here’s a tip: when you talk to Alice about how it’s actually good that you’re passing notes, make sure to frame it as a compliment and give her the credit for your progress. She’ll definitely forgive you._

_Of course we’re going to hang out during school. You should be more worried about your rep, Hansen. I’m the school shooter. Anyway, I’d take you ruining my chances for more friends over walking through the halls alone any day of the year._

_You’re my best friend. I would notice if you disappeared (please don’t)._

_I’ll punch the next person that laughs at you. Just lmk when someone needs a broken nose._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

_p.s. enjoy this tree porn_

  
  


_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_I can break noses, too. I’m a rebel now so I’ll go after anyone who messes with you._

_I’m writing this during group, because I’m bored. I’m not sure I should even respond to the weird tree porn you drew on your last letter. I have other interests! I like to bake, but I don’t do it unless my mom is home because I’m afraid I’ll set the house on fire._

_Please don’t draw any cupcake porn._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

  


_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_here’s some cookie porn, no cupcakes involved._

_Also when we get out of here I demand baked goods._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

The following afternoon was the next time Connor received a letter. This one was short, and Evan’s handwriting was wobbly, like his hand had been shaking the entire time he wrote.

 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_Today is a bad day._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

Connor asked someone to take him to his room, since he wasn’t allowed to go alone anymore due to him trying to kill himself. He sifted through all the books his mom had brought for him to read. The only one he knew for sure that Evan would like was the first Harry Potter book. 

His mom had brought his tattered soft cover version that he carried around with him at school for years like it was his favorite stuffed animal. His mom always called it his comfort book, so it was one of the first she brought for him. 

He gripped it and returned to the community room. Evan was on the back couch, laying down with all his limbs somehow wrapped in a single blanket and curled into the smallest space possible. His entire body seemed to be shaking. 

There was enough space at the end of the couch near Evan’s head, so Connor sat there and opened the book. He wanted so badly to hug Evan or put a hand through his hair the way that he himself liked. But in here they didn’t let them do that because it was a boundary concern or whatever.

He cleared his throat instead and began to read, “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense….”

The next letter was passed to him just as Evan was shuffling to his room for bed that night. Connor waited until he was sitting in bed to open it. 

 

_Dear Connor Murphy,_

_Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

 

The warmth in his chest couldn’t be contained and he read the note a couple more times, even though he didn’t need to because it was literally two words. He preserved it in the back of his notebook with the others. 

It was easy to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get nervous about playing with a different format....let me know what you think! Your comments seriously inspire me <3 Thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far!


	16. forever balancing blue sky with red blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor thinks haunted dolls are cool. He's also concerned about his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm kinda nervous because there is some smutty content in this chapter and I've never posted anything like it before....pls be gentle w/me.
> 
> Enjoy the long chapter!! It just kept going and there didn't seem to be a spot where splitting it into two chapters made a lot of sense.

The ceiling of his room at Sunstone was boring, but he needed to keep his eyes up. Needed to wait until his roommates left the room before he moved. He shouldn’t have gone to bed last night thinking about the baseball game he attended two weeks ago with his family, because that led him into thoughts about the players, which led to his current situation.

Waking up like this was becoming a pattern recently. His sex drive had been gone for a long time. The depression and medications and suicidal disposition pretty much took it out of him. 

And now it was back, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He had roommates, he used communal showers and he would _maybe_ consider taking things into his own hands there (literally) if someone wasn’t right outside the curtains monitoring the showers. 

So he was staring at the ceiling to avoid any eye contact, willing his hard on to go away as his roommates gathered their clothes and shower caddies. 

He was going home today for pass, even though it was the middle of the week. His parents were taking him to the school to speak with his teachers about doing his work remotely from Sunstone. Connor wouldn’t be starting the year with his class, because it didn’t look like he’d be discharging until October. 

Connor didn’t mind missing the first day of his senior year. It was always the same, filled with whispers and insults. But he _did_ want to graduate on time, so he just needed to get through the day, ignoring the sad looks his teachers would give him when his parents explained why he wouldn’t be there. 

It might have been better if Zoe came with, too. But Zoe left for her jazz camp the week before, so it would just be him at home with his parents. 

Thinking about school and his teachers had done the trick, and he was finally able to get out of bed and rush to the bathroom with just enough time to finish getting ready before breakfast. 

Evan seemed to be having a good morning that day, because he across from Connor at the breakfast table and immediately smiled, “Good morning Connor.” 

Connor glanced up at Evan, pausing and letting the spoon hang out of his mouth in order to take in his friend’s bright affect, “Morning. Good day?” 

Evan nodded and Connor liked the way Evan’s eyes looked when they weren’t blank or tearful, “My mom doesn’t have work this Saturday. So I get to go on pass with her and we’re going to go thrift shopping.”

Evan paused to take a breath, but kept going before Connor could say anything. 

“And like, we used to do that all the time? Together? But she, um, you know. Goes to school and we haven’t gone for a long time. So I’m excited.” 

Going to thrift stores actually sounded fun. Connor’s family never shopped at them and his mom seemed appalled at the idea of using someone else’s donated clothes or furniture or dishes. He’d gone to a few with some of his old stoner friends, but they only looked for super weird things. Connor wondered what Evan looked for when he went to thrift stores. 

Connor sent Evan a soft smile, “Sounds like fun. What do you and your mom get at thrift stores?” 

“Mostly like, books and clothes?”

“You should look for some super haunted porcelain dolls.” Connor said, and he actually thought that was a great idea, “We could get a ouija board and see if we can summon the soul trapped inside the doll or whatever.” 

Evan looked uneasy for a moment, “I’ll probably, uh, just look for a couple new shirts? Well, not _new,_ but new to me because…”

“I know what you mean, Ev.” Connor interrupted before Evan got too worked up, “I don’t think my mom would let a ouija board into our house anyway.” 

Evan chuckled nervously, “I get freaked out easily. You know?” 

Connor felt a brief pang of guilt, because he didn’t mean to freak Evan out, but also it was mostly a joke, like half of a joke. He was into the haunted dolls, ambivalent about the ouija board. 

Connor decided to compromise, because he still wanted the creepy dolls, “The ouija board would definitely be overkill. If you find any creepy dolls, you should still get them and we could put them in weird places around town and in the forest. They don’t even have to be haunted.” 

“B-but wouldn’t it be better if they were haunted?” 

“Obviously.” Connor rolled his eyes, “Think about how many places we could make haunted and then have all to ourselves? But they don’t have to be haunted if it freaks you out.” 

“I don’t think I w-would like going somewhere haunted.” 

Connor shrugged, “It wouldn’t be that bad. I guess I don’t think there’s a lot a ghost could do to me that my own brain isn’t already doing you know? Like, if the ghost wants me dead I’d just be like, same bro.”

“I n-never thought about it like that.” Evan laughed, not nervously this time, and Connor wanted to keep that going. Evan had a nice laugh.

“So after that, the haunted spirit would recruit our help because there’s no point in haunting someone that’s just like ‘this might as well happen to me, it’s par for the course,’ you know?” 

Evan nodded, chewing his cereal and staring at Connor with attentive eyes. 

“So say we bring the spirit out to haunt a Denny’s.” 

“I think Denny’s is already haunted.” Evan interjected, face completely serious. Connor wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

Connor blinked a couple times, “Did you have some sort of weird experience in a Denny’s? Nevermind. Fair point. What I was saying is that we bring the spirit to haunt a Starbucks or some shit. People won’t go there anymore, and then we can be the only ones that hang out there after school.” 

“Wouldn’t it shut down?” 

Connor raised his eyebrows, “It’s Starbucks, Evan. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one disappear.” 

Evan didn’t get a chance to respond because they were pulled into their first group of the day. Connor paid half attention to his therapist talk about using pros and cons. Connor thought it was a pretty easy concept, so he flipped the handout over and sketched Evan. He wasn’t being weird, Evan was just across the room and he was the easiest one to use as a model. 

He wasn’t good at fooling himself. But it didn’t matter because nobody would ever see it. 

His mom picked him up after group was done, and he calculated in his head that if he played his cards right, he might be able to get an hour of alone time before they ate lunch and headed to the school. 

And now that the prospect of time alone was becoming a little more real, his frustration had returned and was getting worse by the second. This wasn’t stomach churning anger that had him punching walls. This was heat in his lower belly, tightness in his thighs, waking up in the morning with a hard on that takes 15 minutes to think away, _frustrated_. 

It had been basically a month since he tried to kill himself at Sunstone, and he still wasn’t allowed much alone time. At home he got like, ten minutes at most before one of his parents poked their head in and made sure he wasn’t actively dying. 

In the car, his mom was listening to NPR and occasionally commenting on the stories or asking for Connor’s input, but he didn’t have much to say. He was too busy thinking about his recent frustration. 

It was driving him crazy.

And what made it worse was that his stupid lizard brain seemed to think all of Evan’s smiles or laughs or excited gesturing were reasons to feel blushy and warm and fidgety. He should not be getting hard just thinking about Evan’s lips and the way he sometimes looked at Connor like they shared some secret. 

He definitely didn’t spend time staring at Evan’s hands and then drawing them, thinking about how they might feel if they held hands, if Evan cupped his jaw, pressed his thumbs into Connor’s hips, pressed a slick finger into him - 

“Connor,” His mom snapped him out of his thoughts and he felt himself turn red, “We’re home, sweetie. Is everything okay?” 

“Yep!” He squeaked, throwing his door open and stepping out of the car. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about sex while sitting in the car next to his mom, “Hey, could I have an hour of alone time? I just, I want to nap, and shower. Uninterrupted.” 

“Are you feeling okay? How are your urges?” 

Connor resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “None. I haven’t even thought about killing myself in like six days. Please, mom?” 

They walked inside and his mom pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Alright, 45 minutes.” 

He must have looked really excited because his mom was smiling at him, letting out a soft chuckle as she squeezed his shoulder, “I guess you don’t get a lot of time to yourself, huh?” 

Connor shook his head, “Nope, never. I can’t wait to be alone for a bit - not that I don’t want to see you and dad, but-” 

“But you’re still a teenager.” His mom still had that soft smile on her face, “Go on, I’ll come get you for lunch.” 

**\---explicit things start here---**

Connor bolted up the stairs, shutting his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it, shoving a hand into his jeans and palming himself through his boxers. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, trying to kick his pants off his legs without making too much noise, because the last thing he needed was for his mom to hear him trip and come running.

He finally got to his bed and let his head fall back as he wrapped his hand around his dick, which was already fucking hard even though he’d barely started thinking about things (and by things he means Evan). Fuck, he hadn’t done this in so long, how had he survived? It was so fucking good, he felt _amazing._

Searching his brain for helpful images, he thought about blue eyes, soft looking lips curving into a tiny grin, freckles, so many freckles. And hands, a little rough, and Connor’s legs spread without him even thinking about it. 

Connor panted and turned to reach behind his headboard and grab the small bottle of lube in a ziplock baggie he had taped there.

He poured some onto his fingers and reached behind himself, imagining Evan behind him, teasing him, kissing his lower back and sucking hickeys onto his thighs before pressing a finger into him and telling him how beautiful he looked. 

He shouldn’t be thinking these things about his friend, but his body didn’t care, his lizard brain kept the images coming because they were making Connor’s heart stutter in his chest and his lower belly coil tightly and breaths come quickly in little gasps. 

Connor added another finger, pressing into himself as deeply and quickly as possible and he stifled a groan. His dick was throbbing and Connor turned his attention there, keeping his fingers buried inside his ass as he swiped his thumb over the head of his cock and jerked himself off, imagining Evan smiling at him and encouraging him to come. 

And then he was coming, swearing as his body contracted around his fingers, which sent pleasure sparking through him, all the way down to his toes, which flexed, his body tightening as he came into his hand and onto his chest. 

He moved his fingers inside him and it ripped another sudden wave of pleasure out of him. He gasped and whipped his head back, swearing when he smashed his head against the headboard by accident. He heard his mom call his name, which meant she heard him almost concuss himself against the headboard of his bed. 

  **\---explicit things end here---**

With a groan he quickly stumbled into the bathroom, rubbing the sore spot on his head and grimacing about not getting to lie in bed and enjoy the aftermath of his orgasm. He closed the door and started the shower just as his mother came to check in on him.

“Connor? Are you okay?” 

“Everything’s fine!” He called, but his voice broke in the middle, “Just, um, hit my head when I woke up from my nap.” 

Ugh, she probably knew exactly what he’d been doing but he could hardly bring himself to care because he felt so much better. More relaxed, despite the concern he was starting to feel about the way he was thinking about Evan. 

“Okay, sweetie. Lunch is in 20 minutes.” 

He took his time in his own fucking shower, not a shared communal one, washing his hair and scrubbing away the evidence of what he just did. 

When he walked downstairs and saw his mom making sandwiches, his stomach actually growled. His appetite was coming back in more than one way, and it made him feel alive, which was something he was still getting used to. 

He grabbed two sandwiches and an apple and sat down next to his dad, who was looking through the course catalog for school. 

“Do you know what classes you want to take, Connor?” His mom asked, and Connor shrugged, because his mouth was full. 

His father spoke up, “The advisor said that for this year you need a P.E. credit, two more credits each of science, english, social studies and math. The other credits can be whatever electives you want, and it doesn’t look like you’ll have room for a study hall since you’re making up a couple classes from last year.” 

“Kay,” Connor mumbled through the next bite of his sandwich. He hadn’t been this hungry in forever. His dad passed him the catalog and Connor flipped through it. 

He circled a couple art classes he could take in the second semester, because he wasn’t sure art was something he could do from Sunstone. There were a couple interesting English classes, and they were offering an introduction to psychology course that seemed interesting but might be too real for Connor to sit through. 

Either that or he would be way too good at it. 

His dad looked at his watch, “We better get going, we don’t want to be late.” 

Connor glanced down and frowned at his second sandwich, “Can I bring this with?” 

“Of course!” His mom quickly grabbed a ziplock baggie, “It’s good to finally see you eating like a teenage boy!” 

She kissed him on the forehead and went to grab her purse. He put his sandwich in the bag and sat at the table for a moment. His mom always said weird things to him, like commenting on him becoming a _real boy_ and it sort of weirded him out. It used to make him angry.

Now he sort of gets that these dumb little things like actually eating are signals for his mom to see his progress or whatever.

“Connor! We have to go!” 

He sighed and joined his parents in the car. His good mood from earlier was slowly being replaced with anxiety. He didn’t want to go back to this stupid school. 

“Are you sure I can’t just finish online?” 

His mom turned around, her face a little stern, “Connor, we already talked about this.” 

He fell silent, because he didn’t really want to fight about it. He would just go do this, try not to make eye contact with the teachers. Hopefully nobody would even notice when he came back to school.

They arrived at the school, actually getting a spot near the front doors because it was still summer and only the teachers were there for their workshops. 

“Ready to go in?” His mom asked, pulling her cardigan on. Connor looked around him and began to panic. He left his sweater at the house. He was only in his t-shirt and he could suddenly feel his scars, which he knew wasn’t possible, but he could _feel them_.

“I can’t go in there.” 

His dad turned around in the seat, and Connor set his jaw, waiting for his dad to raise his voice and tell him he had no choice. Connor’s hands were shaking. His dad wasn’t saying anything, just staring and trying to read him and he wrapped his arms around his ribs. He hated being scrutinized.

“What’s going on?” His dad’s words were careful. They sounded wrong and badly practiced, covering what he really wanted to say. At least Larry was trying. 

Connor felt his eyes start to burn, “I forgot my sweater. They’ll see. I don’t want them to see my arms.” 

“Oh honey, they won’t judge you. They already know about your treatment, that’s what these meetings are for.” His mom’s voice was reassuring, but it didn’t really change the way he felt about this.

He didn’t say anything, and his mom shot his dad a look that meant he needed to say something. Connor had been on the receiving end of that look often enough to recognize it.

“If they ask, I’ll let them know we want to focus on your classes right now and that you have other people you talk about it with.” 

His dad sounded very serious. And Connor actually believed his dad would stop his teachers from asking questions or getting too concerned about the overlapping scars and burns, some of them looking so freshly healed. 

Connor didn’t move. He didn’t know if it was enough. Because they would still give him those sad looks, or stare too much, or they wouldn’t catch their looks of surprise or fear or disgust fast enough and he would see it and be consumed by self-loathing. 

“There’s a first aid kit in the glove box.” Larry said, “If you would rather wrap them before we go in.” 

He nodded, and his mom opened the glove box to pull the small first aid kit out. Connor stared at his lap when he presented his arms to his dad so he could wrap the gauze around them. 

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” His dad said as he taped the gauze down and put the kit away. 

Connor didn’t respond to his dad because he did feel ashamed and he didn't know how to get rid of it. He just followed his dad into his school with his mom’s arm wrapped around his waist like she was trying to hold him together or protect him or keep him from walking away. 

The meetings went quickly, and Connor managed to make it through unscathed for the most part. His math teacher, Mr. Hitch, had been surprisingly caring and concerned. Connor remembered him as exasperated and lecturing. On the other hand, Connor always had him right after lunch, so he always showed up to class freshly high and probably stinking of weed. 

The last meeting was with his favorite teacher. Mrs. Grayson had always seen right through his anger and despondence toward school. Connor had hated it the year before, because he thought she was too nice and he hated himself so much and she was wasting her fucking time. 

He was kind of grateful for it, now. Only a little bit, though. He still thought school was stupid and that he was a waste of time. They were probably just trying to graduate him so they didn’t have to deal with his bullshit. Fair point, though.

“It’s good to see you, Connor.” She greeted, “Have you read anything good this summer? I’ve been looking for recommendations.” 

He nodded and mumbled out a couple answers from the books his mom brought to him. 

She grinned and picked up a folder, handing it over to him. He didn’t open it. 

“I came up with a few ideas for how we can keep you caught up while still letting you focus on getting better. You’ve always been ahead of the curve in english literature, so I think a couple of independent reports on the books we’ll be reading in class will suffice.” 

Connor nodded and took the list of books they’d be reading during the semester out of the folder. It was a pretty good list. He’d already read a couple of them, which he expressed quietly. 

“If you want to pick a couple of your own books to replace those, we can talk about it. We should have you do something you’re interested in rather than follow the syllabus for the sake of following it.” 

She must have seen his eyes light up, because she asked him to email her a list of things he wanted to read and she would choose the ones that reflected the themes she wanted to touch on during the course. 

“I should be coming back to school in October.” He said, “Do you think, um, we could still do some different assignments or something?” 

She nodded, seemingly thinking for a minute, “Why don’t we plan to keep the assignments the same as what you’ll be completing when you’re at Sunstone. I don’t think reading quizzes will be a benefit to you anyway. I’ve never had a problem with you not doing the readings.” 

“Okay.” He looked down at his hands. He felt like he was being a burden, he didn’t want his classmates to make fun of him or push him around for getting special treatment.

“And I want you to come to me if you’re having a hard time. The guidance counselor also spoke with me, and we thought that maybe you’d like to eat lunch in here sometimes.”

Connor looked up at her, a strange feeling settling in his chest because she didn’t look pitying or burdened. She looked like she wanted to spend time with him and that made Connor feel, well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling. 

She continued once she realized he wasn’t going to respond, “I know the other kids aren’t the nicest to you, and we don’t want you to feel isolated. The invitation is always open.” 

He looked down again and picked at the gauze on his arms. His mom reached over and grabbed his hand, “I think that’s a great idea, don’t you, Connor?” 

He cleared his throat, “Yeah. Thanks. I, um, I’ll probably do that. If it’s okay.”

“I extended the same offer to Evan Hansen. His mom told me you two are getting close.”

Her little smile made Connor think she knew something he didn’t know, but she didn’t know anything about his relationship with Evan so he had no idea what it could possibly be. 

When they got back to the car, his mom pulled him into a very tight hug, “I’m so proud of you.” 

He let her hug him for a minute, because he felt drained and overwhelmed and he was seriously dreading the school year. His dad was arranging Connor’s new pile of textbooks and folders in the backseat. 

“Are you sure about online school?” Connor mumbled as he pulled away from her. She shook her head, a small smile on her face.

“Only one more year, sweetie. You can do this.” 

He really didn’t know if he could. His parents didn’t know what he went through every day in that hellhole. And now that he was really trying to stop getting high, he wasn’t sure how he’d get through the day. And then his brain decided to remind him about lunches with Evan away from satan’s anus, otherwise known as the cafeteria. The days still wouldn’t be good. But he might not have to get high to stand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!!! I am seriously thankful for all of you who have been reading my story!
> 
> The next chapter is a doozy so stay tuned.


	17. I cry more often than most people pee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a hard night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break everyone....I had a lot of vacation time in the last month and I didn’t have much time to sit and write! It didn’t help that I rewrote the last half of this chapter a bunch of times....
> 
> Hopefully I’ll get back to a more regular schedule!

Connor was in an ornery mood. He woke up angry, he ate meals angry, and he spent his therapy session with Emily screaming into a pillow and doing a bunch of stuff to make him a little less mad. 

It worked enough to at least allow him to play a game of Go Fish with Evan without throwing something. He just wanted his mom to get here so he could cry and she could hug him. His dad was coming too, but he didn’t really know what he wanted from his dad. 

Evan had just told him to go fish, making him frown, when a grating voice filled the room. 

“Acorn!” 

It was Jared Fucking Kleinman. Connor scowled because of course Kleinman showed up on the day Connor felt like punching anyone who even looked at him. He tossed his cards onto the table and slumped down. Maybe Kleinman would just leave him alone.  

“H-hi Jared.” Evan got up from his chair, cheeks flushing as he gracelessly stumbled over to Jared and his two moms. Connor had known, somewhere deep down, that Kleinman had two moms, but it didn’t really register until they were both hugging Evan and kissing him on the cheek. 

“Are you making friends here?” Jared finally looked toward the table he and Evan had been sitting and Connor didn’t manage to look away fast enough, “Oh my God, is that Connor Murphy?” 

Connor tried unsuccessfully to not grind his teeth. He focused on collecting the cards from the table and putting them back into the torn up paper box they came in. 

“Loving the hair, Connor. Very school shooter chic.”  

Connor stood and stomped forward so he was looming over Kleinman, who was pretty short, and glared down at him. He wanted to break Jared’s stupid looking glasses and shove the pieces in his asshole mouth. His hands were shaking and he was digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from punching Jared, whose moms were saying something in the background that he couldn’t hear through the roaring in his ears.

Kleinman laughed nervously, “It was a joke, man.” 

“Oh yeah. It was really funny. Can’t you see how hard I’m laughing?” Connor spat, frustration and anger making his eyes prickle with tears that were inevitably coming. 

“Are you going to freak out on me?” Jared asked, and Connor knew when someone’s bravado was completely fake. Kleinman was scared of him. 

Kleinman was scared of him. 

He felt himself deflate a bit and he stepped back right before one of the tech’s watching the room came over to make sure Connor didn’t beat the shit out of Jared. Which he still kind of wanted to do. 

Connor sneered and grabbed his pack of cards, “I promise I won’t kill you or anyone else at school. Trust me, if I kill anyone it’ll be myself.” 

He brushed past Jared and stopped in front of Evan, “We can finish our game later.” 

Connor figured Evan would want to talk with Jared alone, and the last thing he wanted to do was be around Kleinman, so he sat down at a table in the corner to wait for his parents to arrive, because they said they would be coming today. He wiped at his eyes for a moment and then put his head in his arms. 

He fucking hated everything. He was making so much progress but nothing ever changed. Nobody would ever see him or treat him differently. In the end, nothing fucking mattered. He cleared his throat to try to stop it from tightening up, to stop the crying before it happened. It didn’t work. His nose was starting to run and his tears were warm against his cheeks until they dripped onto the table. 

He wanted his mom, because she would be nice to him even if he was angry. She wouldn’t get mad if Connor said he didn’t want to talk and then cried into her shoulder like an infant. 

“Connor?” 

Fuck his entire life. The universe actually had it out for him today. Maybe the universe wanted Connor to die. 

“Why are you here, Miguel?” He just sounded tired. He was tired and he didn’t want to be around anyone anymore because every interaction he had today was making it worse. 

Miguel sat down next to him and took Connor’s hand. He hated it, the contact made his skin feel like there were ants crawling all over it, so he pulled away and hid both his hands in his sweater. 

“Your parents are here, but they said they’d let us talk for a bit.” 

“I don’t want to talk.” Connor hated that his voice broke. He couldn’t look Miguel in the face, because he knew his heart would break and he would cry even more. 

Miguel didn’t leave, instead he leaned in toward Connor and talked quietly, “I didn’t know, Con. I didn’t know you were suicidal. Why didn’t you say anything? I wouldn’t have...I wouldn’t have cut you off if I knew.” 

Fuck Miguel. Fuck him and his stupid face and kindness and ability to hurt Connor all the fucking time, “Wow. That’s awesome. I’m glad to hear that me being suicidal is the one thing that would have made you stay.” 

Connor finally looked up, and Miguel’s face was pinched and pained. Good. He wanted Miguel to know how fucked up that was. He felt a sharp pang of self-hatred at the fact that he wanted Miguel to feel hurt.

Miguel’s protest was weak, “I’m sorry. My mom…” 

Connor rolled his eyes and sniffled, “Yeah, whatever. She thinks I’m going to ruin you and turn you into a gay stoner. It’s fine.”

“She’s better now, I have a boyfriend and-“

Connor interrupted and wiped at his nose and cheeks with the arm of his sweater, “I really don’t want to hear about it.”

Miguel sighed, “I came here to say I want us to be friends again. I miss you and I care about you. I want to be here for you, you know?” 

Connor shrugged and pulled his knees to his chest because he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. It wasn’t fair for Miguel to expect him to forget everything and pick up their friendship where they left off. 

“I’m really sorry, Con.” Miguel’s voice was soft, “I’m sorry. Can I text you? We don’t have to hang out, but we could stay in contact.” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

He was crying now, shit. Fuck, he was so fucking sad and there was glass scratching its way through his veins. 

“When you’re feeling better, we could get together and smoke sometime.” 

Miguel’s voice was ripe with false hope and empty plans and Connor couldn’t tell if the emptiness he was feeling was from relief or sadness that it was all over, they would never go back to hanging out the way they used to - smoking and laughing and watching the stars blur above them. 

“I don’t smoke anymore.”

Miguel reached over to put a hand on Connor’s knee, and he pushed it off. He didn’t want to be touched.

“Why are you shutting me out? We were so close and now you won’t even look at me.” 

Miguel was exasperated and looked like he was losing his energy. Being a fucking hypocrite must take a lot out of him. But he had a point, Connor was so good at pushing everyone away, so good at hurting people and making them regret they ever knew him or tried to help him. He knew it took a lot of energy for someone to be around him. He was like a black hole of apathy.

He didn’t want to push people away, it was just easier. 

He should try to meet Miguel in the middle. He could at least give 50% effort into a second chance, “I don’t know. I need time to think and today sucks, okay? I woke up angry and I don’t want to fucking talk or be touched. I miss you too, I just don’t think we can go back to the way we were right away. And I really don’t need to hear about your new boyfriend.” 

Miguel looked sad for a split moment, “We were never going to work in the long run, Con. We both knew that.” 

He could feel his face pinching and he sighed, “Jesus, fuck. I knew that and I still know that. But that doesn’t really make it hurt less, M.”

Connor could feel Miguel watching as he clenched his jaw and his hand turn to a fist on the table, “It’s not even that we broke up, it’s that I took the fucking fall for you and you didn’t even bother to talk to me afterward.”

There was a sharp pain in his chest. It was all he was feeling today. He was still so fucking mad at Miguel for high tailing it out of his life. 

“I messed up. I’m sorry.” 

Connor squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten, “I know you’re sorry. You can text me, but if you’re going to ghost me again, don’t bother. I’m fucked up, okay? And if you’re going to take off every time, then -” 

“I won’t…”

“You don’t have a very good track record.” Connor snapped.

“Yeah, you’ve really gotten that one through my head. But we’ve both changed and grown and I think we could move past it if we both are willing to try.” Miguel stood and Connor followed, “I’ll text you, let me know if you’re in.” 

Connor hunched his shoulders and stared at his feet, “I’d like to try. I’ll text you back. I can’t have my phone in here, but…”

Miguel smiled softly, “I won’t wait up. Just, let me know when you want to hang out. No drugs involved.” 

Connor forced a half smile for Miguel, “Thanks. I won’t be out of here until October. But I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” 

Miguel nodded, “I won’t push you into anything.” 

Connor glanced over at his parents, who were definitely trying not to stare but doing a really bad job of it, “I think my parents are getting antsy.” 

“I should get going, anyway.” 

Connor shuffled his foot and stepped a little closer, holding his arms out slightly, “We can hug now. If you want.” 

Miguel moved forward quickly, hugging Connor tightly just the way he used to, and Connor relaxed into the hug easily, like no time had passed at all. He wrapped his arms around Miguel and tried to keep his shoulders from shaking, because he couldn’t seem to stop crying today. 

They pulled apart and Connor wiped the tears from his cheeks, “See you around, M.” 

“Bye, Connor.” 

His parents rushed over as soon as Miguel was out the door. His mom pulled him into a hug, and it was softer and lighter than usual, obviously meant to make it so he could pull away if he wanted. 

He hugged her more tightly, and she must have felt his tears on her shoulder where he’d hidden his face, because she was rubbing circles into his back and whispering, It’s okay, I’m here to him over and over, which made him cry even more. 

Eventually he pulled away and sat down. His dad was there, holding a box of tissues and a frozen fruit out to him, so he sat down and wiped his face. He grabbed the fruit and held it, focusing on breathing and his dad’s hand on his shoulder. 

He leaned into his dad’s side, a little hesitant, but his dad didn’t move away, just squeezed his shoulder a little bit and whispered just match my breathing, son.

Connor didn’t respond to anything his parents said, but they talked about Zoe and going shopping for school supplies and they asked if he wanted anything in particular, but they didn’t even pause for a response, just kept going on about the neighbor’s new dog and anything else they could come up with. And Connor was grateful.

Eventually the fruit started to get squishy, so Connor sat up and placed it on the table. He sat back in his chair and glanced over to his mom, “That was Miguel who visited.” 

Her eyes widened, like she wasn’t expecting Connor to talk about it at all. 

“He’s the one you caught me with, a couple years ago.” He could feel his face start to heat up, “We had a falling out. I haven’t seen him since I got expelled? I don’t even know how he knew I’m here.” 

“Are you two…” His dad didn’t even finish the question. He didn’t think either of his parents knew what to say when it came to Connor’s sexuality. Which was ambiguous to them because Connor has never actually told them anything. 

Connor shook his head, “He has a boyfriend now. Not that I wanted to know about it. I don’t think we’ll ever be like that again.”

“What happened?” His mom’s question was tentative and Connor went rigid for a moment. He didn’t know how they would react if he told them, but it’s not like the information would change anything. They might even be glad it wasn’t his weed. They might be disappointed that he threw so much away. 

“It wasn’t my pot.” He said, clearing his throat, “It was Miguel’s, but I told the headmaster it was mine because I didn’t want Miguel to be expelled.”

Silence. He didn’t look up from his hands, “I was going to be a burnout anyway. Miguel, he had a future. He is smart and kind and he was working really hard. We smoked together, but I was the one with a problem and a record.” 

His dad sighed, “Connor,”

He interrupted his dad because he didn’t want to talk about what he should’ve done or hear any plans his dad for getting him back into that school, “Anyway, after that he just never talked to me again. He didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. And then he just showed up today.” 

He rubbed at his eyes and sniffled, “Today really, really sucks.” 

His mom gathered him up in her arms and hugged him tightly, “I’m sorry, baby. You’re not going to be a burnout. You’re doing so well,”

Connor didn’t say anything in response, just let himself be hugged and reassured for a few minutes. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, “We have to get going, sweetie, is there anything you need from us?”

He shook his head and got up so they could all say goodbye. His mom kissed him again and said she was going to pull the car up while he and Larry said goodbye. 

Connor looked at his shoes when his dad stepped over to him.

“Connor.” He said, voice firm enough to make him look up. He always had so much trouble reading his dad’s expressions. He couldn’t tell if his dad was sad or disappointed or hesitant. 

“Are you mad?” Connor felt himself tearing up against his will again. He blinked them away as much as possible.

“No. I’m proud of you for telling us.” His dad said plainly, no hesitation or wavering voice. He was sure and strong and stable.  Larry pulled him into a hug, and he was still getting used to his dad’s hugs because this improved relationship was still new and Connor couldn’t remember the last time he wanted a hug from his dad before just a few weeks ago. 

They hugged until his dad’s phone rang, signalling that his mom had pulled up outside.

“I love you, Connor.” 

Connor had to clear his throat, “I love you too, dad.” 

Now that his parents were gone, Connor decided to just sit and stare at the wall. He could go upstairs and be in the community room for like 30 minutes before snack but it was noisy up there and there was a much higher possibility that he would fight someone or break something. His emotional stability was tenuous at best. 

Staring at the wall would have to suffice. He wasn’t sure it counted as a coping skill though. Maybe Dawn would let him sit outside and get some fresh air if he asked. 

He was on his way over to Dawn when Kleinman stopped him.

“Connor, wait. Could we sit with you for a few minutes?” 

He looked up, trying not to care that Kleinman was seeing him with puffy red eyes and tear tracks because he just had to cry like a fucking child all evening. 

What Kleinman said earlier wasn’t even close to the worst thing someone has said to him. 

“I don’t care.” Connor sat down at the nearest table and wiped at his face with the sleeve of his sweater a little too roughly. 

Jared and his two moms sat at the table across from him. Evan sat next to him and reached over under the table, grabbing Connor’s hand with a loose grip. He almost jerked his hand away, because he wasn’t expecting Evan to reach out and take his hand at all. 

Connor turned his palm upward to press against Evan’s and squeezed his hand a little tighter. Evan didn’t pull away. 

“Jared, don’t you have something to say?” Jared’s mom’s voice was a bit tense. Probably because she realized her son was a fucking asswipe.

“I’m sorry Connor. My joke wasn’t funny.”

Great, a forced apology. Connor loved those, they really changed everything.

“Whatever, Kleimman. Just leave me alone okay?”

Jared didn’t shut up, “Evan said you’re really cool and a good person. I was jealous that Evan was becoming friends with you.”

Connor rolled his eyes and stared down at his lap, where he and Evan’s hands were intertwined, “That’s dumb, Evan’s your friend too.”

“Not lately, cause I’ve been a shitty friend to him and a shitty person to you. And it took getting chewed out by the most soft spoken person to realize it.”

Connor looked up, Kleinman actually looked sincere. And now that he was assessing his face, Jared’s eyes seemed a little red like he’d been crying too.

For some unknown reason, Connor felt the need to reassure Jared, “He told me that you were a good friend before his anxiety got worse and before you wanted to be cool.”

Jared gave a rueful little laugh, “It didn’t work. You probably don’t know this because I hide it super well, but I don’t actually have any friends and I’m really insecure.”

Connor could see Kleinman’s insecurity from a mile away. He didn’t need to point that out though, because it wouldn’t help anything. A part of him he tried to kill a long time ago felt bad for Jared. 

Connor bit his tongue and shrugged, “Well, thanks for apologizing.”

“Also please don’t kill yourself, I know you were probably just responding to my stupid comment but really. Please don’t do that.”

Connor rolled his eyes, “Whatever, Kleinman. Just because you’ve decided to be less of an asshole doesn’t mean you have to pretend to care.”

Jared’s face twisted in a weird way, “I do care,”

There was no time to respond, though, because the end of visiting hours was called and the staff began ushering people out, so Jared and his moms got up to leave. Evan pulled his hand away and walked with them to the door. 

Nighttime snack began and Connor ate his slowly, paying no attention to the conversations around him. .Connor frowned and wished he’d had a chance to go outside and breathe. He felt like he was being crushed and his lungs were filling with concrete.

He felt drained, his eyes were heavy and his temples were throbbing from all the crying.

His thoughts were like television static and it was grating on his nerves. He just wanted to be able to fall asleep, but there was so much happening and stressing him out. 

Evan had tried to talk to him but Connor just shook his head and laid down on the table. He could fucking feel Evans concern and anxiety radiating off of him. He didn’t need anyone’s concern. He just needed to be left alone so he could sleep and be done with this shitty day. He tried not to think about how Evan held his hand earlier.

They were all called to bus their dishes to go upstairs for hygiene, but Dawn asked him to stay back. So he just stayed where he was, looking up briefly when Dawn sat down next to him. Everything seemed so far away.

He didn’t have the energy to talk. All of his energy was being put toward eventually making it to his room so he could lay down and forget that tonight even happened. 

“Hey, what’s up Connor? You seem really down.” 

Connor fell back into his seat and shrugged, “I’m fine.” 

He didn’t want to talk about it. He talked enough tonight, and people didn’t seem to care that he didn’t want to. Miguel showed up and talked, and after Jared insulted him, he came back at the end to apologize and even though it didn’t go horribly, Connor was so fucking done. 

He didn’t have the time or patience or desire to absolve people of their guilt. The guilt they only felt because Connor was suicidal and they didn’t want that on their conscience. He could see right through them. They didn’t care what Connor was feeling that day (or what he needed or wanted). He stared at the wall behind Dawn.

“A lot happened in visiting hours. I thought you were going to punch the short kid with glasses.” 

“I should have.” Connor snapped, but then deflated, “Now I’m just tired and I don’t want to cry or talk anymore. Nobody cares that I don’t want to talk about things right now.”

“I get it. As long as you can keep yourself safe tonight we can table this check in until tomorrow.”

Connor nodded and picked at a fraying thread on the arm of his sweater.

“How are your urges tonight?” Dawn asked, and Connor momentarily thought about giving his paperclip up, the one he’d taken from some of the papers his teachers gave him when he and his parents went to the school. He knew he should tell Dawn, but nothing had been helping him all day. He needed this. 

“Low. Probably like 2/10 for suicide and self harm. Talking to Emily helped today. And my dad said he was proud of me, so that made me feel better. I’m just trying to think about that until I can go to sleep.”

His lies made him feel like he was flossing his teeth with wire. It would go away with everything else once he got upstairs and took the paper clip from his sock where it was currently burning into his skin.

Dawn smiled softly, “I’m happy to hear you had a good visit with your parents. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about? It looks like you have a lot going on in your head.”

Connor nodded, “I’m just really tired. Can we go up so I can lie down? You said we can talk about this another time.” 

“Yeah, let’s go. I’ll grab you an ice pack from the nursing station while we pass by.”

Once upstairs, he brushed his teeth very quickly and got into bed as soon as he possibly could. He used the ice pack while he tried to rest, and he thought he might be able to make it through the night without scratching himself with the paperclip, but he tried falling asleep until lights out was officially called, and he suddenly felt very awake. 

Everything was coming back. He couldn’t stop the static in his brain or his thoughts and he was so tired but he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t make it stop and usually when this happened he would get high or cut himself to numb out. 

He rolled onto his side to face the wall, hugging himself with one arm and weaving the other through his hair. He just wanted all the feeling to stop. He didn’t think he could cry anymore and if he could just sleep or scream into his pillow then maybe he could fight his urges. But he couldn’t fall asleep because he couldn’t stop thinking about the paperclip he’d been hiding in his sock since the day he saw his teachers he just needed to hurthurthurthurthurthurt

He reached down and took the paperclip from his sock, holding it tightly in his fist and bringing it to his wrist under the sheets. 

The door pushed open and he stiffened, trying to make it look like he was sleeping while the technician counted them to make sure they were all still there. The door shut soon after and Connor focused in on the way the paperclip dug unpleasantly into his flesh. 

It wasn’t like a razor or the hot sting of a cigarette, it was blunt and he had to press really hard, but eventually he got the hang of it and let his mind go numb as he focused in on the pain leaving his body.

He fell asleep before he had a chance to feel guilty about it. Thank God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are very appreciated, especially as I’m trying to get back into writing regularly! Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter coming soon? It's gonna be a slow burn, folks. They've got some healing to do before they can go anywhere. Also I'm straight up making chapter titles lines from Andrea Gibson poems. If you haven't heard of them, I highly suggest listening cause it'll change ur life.


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